


The Steve Rogers Guide to Social Distancing

by beckywiththegoodhijab



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Horniness, I CHANGED MY USER NAME TO MATCH MY TUMBLR URL, Set in a magical world where Civil War never happens, UST, but Bucky is recovered and around, but emotionally CLOSE, but is also hand twitch from p&p levels of repressed, eventual CDC approved smut, god I would apologize but I write this for ME in this time of TURMOIL, i use questionable scientific terms, no-meet-cute, pls understand, post-AoU, socially distant, steve hates capitalism, steve is a socialist, steve is ashamed of himself often, steve is incredibly horny, the quarantine fiction no one asked for, they're NEIGHBORS karen, this is gratuitous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckywiththegoodhijab/pseuds/beckywiththegoodhijab
Summary: Listen, I've yet to see a Steve/Darcy quarantine fic and just... THIS IS PRIME REAL ESTATE PEOPLE. If no one else is going to write a fic where these two idiots are neighbors who fall in love (all while maintaining a CDC-approved distance of 6 feet), then I guess I'm going to have to do it myself.For the sake of this dumb little fic, this is set in a magical timeline where Civil War didn't happen and somehow Bucky is a-okay and shacking up with Natasha. Because I recognize how tragic our current state of affairs are, I'm not going to land on a jokey, fun tone until I'm done establishing the major pandemic-related plot points at the start of this fic. Then we shall see where I go with it.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Comments: 206
Kudos: 312





	1. meant 2B

Steve really liked his apartment building. The rent didn't totally offend his 1940s sensibilities, his place had a view of a nearby park, and the living room got _really_ great light during the daytime.

It was home--not that Steve spent a lot of time there. Between the Avenging and the post-mission debriefs and the charity appearances, Steve was usually living out of a duffel bag or whatever Stark magically conjured up for him out of thin air.

When he did come home, he was typically a combination of recovering from a near-fatal injury, exhausted, or emotionally distressed. That meant his SOP included clumsily unlocking the door, dropping his shield and bag near the entrance, and staggering to the shower/bed/fridge. Steve was used to life on the go, and didn't really mind the lack of roots. He had his team, he had Bucky, and he had his sense of purpose. He saved lives, intervened in conflicts before they got worse, and stood up against bullies.

Nothing in his life would have changed were it not for a deranged mad scientist with a grudge the size of Manhattan and Tony Stark's big mouth. Steve was taking cover behind an overturned city bus, while the Black Widow fired another round of bullets at the sentient green globs dragging themselves on the streets. Hawkeye's arrows were useless; he'd fired a variety of arrows, but they all dissolved upon making contact with the globs. Stark fired his repulsors at the globs, but the messy explosions only delayed the globs' movements. It took several hours, a call to SHIELD, and Hulk jumping 50 feet into the air while holding the mad scientist, but the Avengers managed to get the bad guy to call back his globs and hand over his research. 

It was a piece of cake, all things considered. The debrief lasted only 15 minutes longer than the shower Steve had to take to get all of the goo out of his nooks and crannies, which meant that the team was playing Mario Kart by 8 PM that evening. Steve slept over at the Tower, too exhausted to refuse Stark's offer of a guest room. It was a good end to an average day for the Avengers.

The next day was average too--

and the next day. 

But 7 days after the Green Glob Incident, Stark called the team to meet at the tower.

Steve was home, arguing with Bucky about the merits of a gas stove versus an electric one, when Stark's voice rang through the apartment. "Rogers, Barnes--get your asses here stat. We may be dealing with a clusterfuck worse than Barnes' tragic coiffure." 

Bucky scoffed at Tony's choice of words, but Steve was already up and tugging on his boots. There was something in Tony's voice that worried him, so he hurried. 

\---

The rest of the team had gathered already, which wasn't a surprise. What _was_ surprising was the fact that Friday had directed them to Tony's personal lab, a place rarely open to anyone other than Rhodey or Pepper. 

Tony was already speaking to the team as they walked in.

"-that's the Fury thinks, at least. Ah, gentlemen, welcome. Let's get started, Brucie." Tony leaned against a console and fidgeted with a spanner, as Bruce Banner rose tiredly from his desk chair and waved at the boys.

"Hi Steve, Bucky. Thanks for coming by." 

Steve sat next to Natasha, who greeted him with a soft shove. 

"We've been running standard monitoring procedures since the... green goo guy. Anytime a biological weapon or, in this case, sentient ball of goo, pops up in the city, SHIELD helps sanitize the sites of exposure as well as any people involved. We take samples, we do research. We hadn't seen any activity that would indicate anything dangerous, but-"

Tony stood to attention and pulled up a screen, interrupting Bruce by throwing a holographic diagram to the center of the lab. It shows a grid of the city, lit up with random splotches of red, varying in intensity and size. 

Clint straightened from his languid recline and pointed at the diagram. "What the fuck are all of the red spots on the map, Stark? If that's New York City, are the red spots sites of exposure?"

Natasha shook her head, and answered before Bruce could. "We did most of the fighting on Vinegar Hill, Barton. This is too much, too far. Stark?" 

Tony stopped twirling the spanner as he answered. 

"It's a virus. The globs were carriers for a nasty pathogen developed by our cuckoo scientist, and the red spots represent areas where people who were presumably exposed to the pathogen have started to show symptoms of an illness that has proven to be far more dangerous than what a flu-shot can handle..."

Steve looked at Bucky, whose eyes were wide with worry. His stomach dropped as he watched Bruce rub his eyes. Tony waved his hand again, and the diagram was altered- it now showed the world as a flat plane, with New York at its center. Dozens of red lines curved from the diagram's center to other parts of the world, and Bucky whispered a heartfelt "fuck" as he realized, along with everyone else, what Stark and Banner were trying to tell them. 

Natasha was the first to recover, calmly pulling out her phone and turning to her former partner. "Clint, call Laura. Tell her to pull the kids out of school and that you aren't coming home for a while." 

Clint sputtered, turning to Bruce for support, but the scientist shook his head. "Clint... you're more vulnerable than most of the team to whatever this virus is. It starts out with a high fever and dry cough, body aches. It looks like the flu, but we've already read a few reports of presumed patients needing ventilators to breathe. You should probably go into quarantine, Clint, keep from spreading it any further. I'm sorry." 

Stark clapped his hands and grimly proclaimed, "We have a pandemic, people! It's not claimed any lives yet in New York, but there are 3000 flights out of New York daily, which means over the last week, there have been 21,000 opportunities for this little bug to fly around the world. I have to go call the Center for Disease Control-" Friday gently interjected with"Perhaps inform Ms. Potts, first, Mr. Stark."

Friday's Scottish lilt normally amused Steve, but he was still struggling to wrap his head around the whole mess. He'd saved his city from Nazis, from bombs, even from aliens and Loki--but a pandemic? He couldn't do shit about that.

Bucky clasped Steve's shoulder and squeezed tight, aware of his best friend's self-flagellating tendencies. Steve let the feel of Bucky's heavy metal hand ground him, before he stood and placed his hands on his hips. 

"What can I do, Tony?"

\---

President Ellis called for a national lock-down by the following Monday. Congress suspended rent and mortgage payments across the country as businesses and corporations shuttered their windows for the foreseeable futures. Grocery stores were wiped out as people desperately stocked up on supplies for what the media had dubbed "Social Distancing".

Aware that he could do little to actually fight the disease, Steve chose to help in his own way. Pepper found him a film crew and on Sunday morning, Steve spent 5 hours filming various PSA's about the Virus, about the rate of exposure, and how to prevent the virus' spread. It wasn't much, but it helped shrink the pit of guilt that had taken residence in Steve's stomach since that Friday.

Steve declined Tony's offer to stay in the Tower--he didn't want to be in the lap of luxury while New Yorkers around him struggled in their one-bedroom apartments.

He gave Stark an excuse about wanting to keep an eye on some of the older tenants in his apartment, and prepared to leave the tower, although he was flying solo this time.

Shockingly, Bucky had also turned down Steve's offer to stay at his place, glancing at Natasha before shaking his head again. Steve's eyes widened, but Natasha strode past him imperiously and Bucky followed her too swiftly for Steve to comment any further. 

\---

Steve had borrowed one of Stark's cars--an oversized SUV--so that he could gather supplies for the long-haul. He'd found very little at his usual bodega, so he'd had to resort to visiting a Costco. 

He normally didn't buy more than a week's worth of groceries at a time, given his unpredictable schedule, but Steve had grit his teeth and let rip at the warehouse store once he'd realized that he needed supplies that would last at least a month. Steve abandoned his usual chivalrous attitude after a middle-aged woman in a sweater-set snatched the last pack of brand-name toilet paper from his hands with a triumphant "ha!" 

Then, battle-honed instincts kicked in, and 4 hours and $1100 later, Steve was driving back to his apartment with a grin on his face. He _may_ have vaulted over the feminine products aisle so that he could grab a few bottles of mouthwash, giving away his enhanced status to the elderly Sikh woman who'd agreed to watch his cart for him, but he didn't care. He was ready to stay inside.

\---

Steve hated staying inside. It reminded him of his childhood, of weeks spent in bed in the one-bedroom tenement apartment he'd grown up in with his Ma. He couldn't complain about the conditions of his current place--he had A/C, heating, and the wonders of television and the internet to entertain him.

No, it was just the sense that he was trapped by circumstances beyond his control that upset him. That, and the fact that he had to stay away from people, something that he thought he'd never have to do again once he took Dr. Erskine's serum.

He wasn't sick, though. He'd tested negative for the virus (Bruce had developed a test after a 72-hour bender with Stark, and had immediately tested his teammates for the virus). Clint had tested positive, and was quarantined in Stark Tower's built-in medical facility. Everyone else tested negative, and so they were able to isolate at home. 

All things considered, the situation was as under control as it could have been. Steve _should_ have been comforted by that, but...

he had this _neighbor._

\---

Steve tended to sleep early and wake at dawn. He could operate on zero sleep, but preferred a solid 9 hours a night. Unfortunately for him, that was im _possible,_ thanks to the fucker who lived in apartment 2B, who liked to blast music on their speakers while cooking elaborate, smelly meals at all hours of the night. 

The first time it had happened, Steve had been in bed, already asleep by 11:30. He'd spent the day re-reading Tolkien's "The Hobbit", and had gone to bed with visions of Middle-Earth in his mind (he was going to sketch tomorrow, he just knew it). 

Around 2 AM, Steve jolted awake to the sound of a song that seemed to be about something called "Boom Boom Pow". The bass thudded heavily through the apartment walls, and Steve's enhanced hearing meant he could hear everything _extremely_ well. 

He tried to ignore it, and even managed to doze off for a half-hour. But then, the putrid odor of sour fish invaded his nostrils, and then garlic, and then some kind of stinky cheese. It was awful, almost worse than the smell of trench-foot in a soldier's old boot, but Steve didn't want to risk his isolation for some inconsiderate neighbor. 

\---

It kept happening--Thursday night, he gasped awake to the soulful tunes of Billie Holliday. Saturday, Steve was brought to consciousness by the delightful aroma of burning toast and bitter coffee. 

The last straw for Steve was the night of 80s rock and goulash- the spicy smells that permeated his home were so awful that he was out of bed and leaving his apartment before he'd even processed what was going on.

Fueled by the anger of the self-righteous adults who go to bed at responsible hours, Steve knocked on the door firmly, and then stepped as far away as he could from the entrance. The music cut, and the sudden silence was a balm to Steve's weary ears. 

The door barely opened, as the chain was still fastened, and Steve felt slightly guilty for his impetuous knocking. Then the bitter scent of burnt spices wafted out of the apartment, and his resolve returned in full-strength. 

"Hello? Who is it?" The voice was female, high-pitched and oddly nasal, though not unpleasant.

"I live next door, 2A. Your music's woken me up every night this week."

He didn't like how scared the voice sounded, so he stepped to the side so that the woman could see him. Suddenly, the door swung shut. Steve heard the chain rattle and the door swung open. 

The woman was short, but not petite, and wore a tank-top and short-shorts. Her chestnut-hair was tied up in a ratty bun, and smudged glasses framed her bright blue eyes.

She seemed young, based on her taste in music and the chipped purple polish on her toenails. Arms crossed tightly, she stared at Steve, appraising him, really. He realized, rather belatedly, that he was wearing only a thin undershirt and pajama pants that left little to the imagination... and then the woman smiled wolfishly. 

She jerked her chin towards Steve's apartment and spoke more comfortably. "I'm sorry dude, I thought that next door was vacant. I've never seen anyone on this floor but me and Mrs. Chang three doors down. I assumed that I wasn't disturbing anyone-seriously, I'm not a dick. I wouldn't fuck up your night like that-" and Steve's mind blanked for a minute at the words "fuck" and "night" coming out of that woman's lush pink mouth, and he realized that he was objectifying his beautiful neighbor without even knowing her name. 

The woman didn't notice Steve's mental stutter, and didn't stop talking about how long she'd lived there (2 months) and how much better the new place was ( _so_ much better). Steve nodded, and then his manners took over, so he introduced himself, saying his full name without thought, extending his hand instinctively. 

"Sorry, sorry. No touching, I know." Steve blushed, wondering if the woman could see how much she was flustering him.

The woman snorted and waved her hand dismissively without uncrossing her arms.

"You're good, dude. I'm a huge toucher-not in a creepy way, just, tactile, I guess, and this whole pandemic shitstorm has me coping by staying up late and cooking weird combinations of my groceries. I'm Darcy, by the way. Darcy Lewis. I have a mutual friend, I think--tall, blond, from another realm? Kinda Nordic, very hot?" 

Steve's mind short-circuited again as he realized that the girl-Darcy-was talking about Thor, which meant that she knew who he was-

"Hey, hey, I can see you overthinking from here. I'm not a superhero groupie, I was just around when Thor visited Earth the first time. We know each other well-he's dating my boss." 

The pieces clicked, and Steve's breathing calmed enough for him to respond like a normal human. After promising to keep the music down, Darcy watched as Steve headed back to his place. He opened his door and then turned, aware that Darcy's eyes were still on him. She uncrossed her arms and waved goodbye as Steve stepped inside. 

It was a relief, to know his neighbor wasn't an inconsiderate jerk, but just an unobservant civilian who conveniently knew who he was. If he'd been thinking more clearly, he'd have been more suspicious. He and Sharon were good friends now, but he'd still hated know that she'd been sent to spy on him in his own home. 

Darcy didn't seem like a government narc, though. She seemed young and vibrant, although he could be reading too much into the brief interaction. She was just a girl, and he was an old man who needed his sleep. Steve got back into bed and lay on his back, eyes shut tight as though sleep would come faster that way. Twenty minutes later, he sighed and opened his eyes again. He frowned, then allowed his limbs to relax. 

He conjured the image of Darcy again, his eidetic memory allowing him to picture her perfectly. In the dark, Steve let himself examine her leisurely, pausing at places of interest. He started at the top, remembering the ratty bun. Her hair was wavy but not curly, mostly tucked away in a bun that only let a few strands curl down her pale neck. 

She had on glasses that didn't diminish the brightness of her eyes, her gaze direct and bold.

He moved on to her smile, a smile that told him she was wary of the strange neighbor, but not really afraid of him for some reason.

The gap between her front two teeth was miniscule, but it seemed like a necessary detail to the composition of her face; Steve's artistic sensibilities told him that without the gap, Darcy's features would seem mismatched, ill-fitting.

Her mouth was naturally pink and lush, and she bit it often as she spoke. She'd said that she was tactile, and then Steve was imagining his large hands on her slender waist, her hips that curved like a Grecian urn.

He pictured her cooking, dancing and singing along to her loud cacophonous music as she butchered a recipe, and he realized that his hand was on his cock, moving.

Squeezing tighter, Steve pictured the way her white arms were crossed tight until the very last moment, and now he knew why; he'd caught her off-guard and braless, and the sight of her generous breasts swaying gently, unbound in his mind's eye, took him to his release quickly.

Steve lay there, panting. He stared down at himself, and the shame set in almost instantly. Gingerly stepping out of bed, Steve stripped his pants off and muttered to himself.

"Pervert. Deviant old man. You call yourself a feminist and then jerk off to a pretty dame with nice tits. A real ally there, huh pal? Gonna go to the women's march, eh buddy?" 

After a quick shower and a change, Steve crawled back into bed. He'd hoped that he would have trouble falling asleep, but the orgasm had done its magic and lulled him straight to sleep.

\--- 

Steve didn't finish his sketches of Middle Earth, or of the Lonely Mountain, or of Smaug. Instead, he filled his pages with sketches of gap-toothed smiles and curling tendrils of hair. 

\------


	2. Hey there, neighbor :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve grapples with *shameful* feelings for all of the attractive people in his life. He also makes connections in unexpected places. Bonus: Bucky's butt makes an appearance!

Steve enjoyed the second week of social distancing far more than his first. Darcy, true to her word, did not play music past 11 PM. The malodorous cooking did not stop, but somehow, Steve couldn't bring himself to confront her over it. He knew it was technically not a BAD thing to lust after his hot neighbor (and act on said lust in the privacy of one's home), but the nuns had really ingrained that self-loathing into his DNA, so he continued to shame himself every time he wondered what kind of music Darcy was going to listen to next. 

Still, Steve didn't let his deviant attraction to Darcy stop him from really leaning into the "staying home" thing. He finally explored the parts of modern culture that seemed alluring but awkward to him in his earlier years out of the ice. That includes ordering fairy lights from etsy, because he thought they were beautiful and totally appropriate additions to his home (Fuck Bucky Barnes or anyone who laughed at his pretty Hygge-fied apartment, thank you very much).

Steve got a Netflix account, and then got HBO and Showtime too. He watched "Band of Brothers" while making homemade protein-bars, and wept over the finale of "Love Island" while polishing his shield. He listened to podcasts while running on his treadmill, gasping over the tales of "Serial" and "Dirty John" as he inched up the incline to its maximum degree. 

Because cooking came easy to Steve, he followed recipes found online. He discovered YouTube videos of amateur cooks making elaborate meals from scratch, and was instantly hooked. He roasted chicken, carved brisket, and delicately arranged a plate of Ratatouille for his solitary suppers that second week alone. Normally, Bucky or Sam would've laughed at Steve's attention to detail, but he was alone, and dammit, he's an artist. 

Spending time on small acts of self-care wasn't enough, unfortunately, to fill Steve's days, or distract his mind from the increasingly grim world outside of his cozy apartment. The homeless population had been hit hard in New York, Los Angeles, and Houston-thousands were sick, and the death toll was rising steadily in the US alone. 

Stark updated the team regularly, but more often than not, his news was limited to hushing his teammates while recording videos of Bruce, snoring unawares in his desk chair. Still, Steve knew that the two men were working round-the-clock with the world's best medical professionals, cooperating by producing the mad scientist's data and research immediately. He also knew that Stark was donating millions of dollars to organizations around the country, and millions more to help provide relief to virus-stricken developing nations around the world. 

Clint was still sick, though the virus had failed to eradicate his terrible sense of humor. Steve video-called him every few days, spending no more than 15 minutes on the line before Clint would drop back to sleep. The sight of Clint, feebly sleeping on a hospital bed, muscles somehow shrunken down after mere days of sickness, upset Steve more than he could express. He knew Tony and Natasha and everyone else felt the same; the lot of them were basket-cases who had redefined "found family" the day they'd shared shawarma after stopping an alien invasion. 

Thor was off-world, so there was no word there, but the rest of the team stayed in touch. Tony had made a short-lived groupchat that had to be deleted mere hours after its inception (Tony posted a screenshot of Steve telling Bucky to go fuck himself, captioning it with a bunch of American flag emojis and the poop emoji. Pepper deleted the groupchat and they spoke of it no further. Steve asked Friday to block his name from his internet search results, and ignored the PR issue any further).

\---

Natasha was notorious for FaceTiming Steve without warning. The first time it had happened, he'd been on his fire-escape, sketching the skyline at dawn. Natasha's caller ID flashed on his screen, and before he could understand what he'd swiped accept to, a set of perplexing images flashed across his screen. 

"Hey there, old man. I knew you don't have life-alert, so I thought I'd call and make sure you hadn't fallen and broken your hip or something." Natasha's wry voice filled Steve with a rush of warmth, so he ignored the jab and smiled. Her red hair was mussed and her face devoid of makeup. 

"Nice to hear from ya, Romanoff. What're you up to so early?" 

Natasha stretched, and it was then that Steve noticed that she was wearing only a robe, and that in the background of the screen was her bed, large and lavishly fitted with what had to be silk sheets.... and Bucky's naked body. 

"Nat! Can't ya cover him up? Buck'll be sore if he knows you're flaunting his assets to the Avengers on your phone." 

Before Natasha could reply, Bucky's prosthetic slowly rose, and a single metal middle finger rose, unerringly, pointing to Steve.

"Fuck you, champ. I'm THE Asset, remember? I'm more than the sum of my parts, asshole."

Steve choked on his own spit while Natasha cackled evilly. Bucky did cover his ass, thankfully, and they chatted for a few minutes more before Steve hung up. 

\---

He was glad, for Bucky and for Nat. They were both _very_ damaged, but they shared that damage healthily, and each bore their fair share of the burden. He could also imagine Natasha and Bucky in bed, lithe and strong-- which was a _bad thought_ , very unsavory and unwholesome and disrespectful to two of his dearest, _hottest_ friends. 

Steve went inside and had a cup of black coffee as penance for his dirty thoughts. He glanced wistfully at his espresso machine, but manfully gulped his bitter swill. He had to get his _hornier_ side under control. 

\---

Steve's other neighbors were awesome. Somehow, he'd barely realized this while living there for as long as he had, but he knew it now. For example: 

The family that lived below him had a small daughter. She couldn't be more than two, and it was clear based on the crying Steve heard from the floor below him that she was struggling with being forced to stay home. One day, he woke up from his afternoon nap to the sound of the toddler screaming and the parents wearily trying to calm her down. 

Steve stepped out to his fire escape and gazed at the afternoon sky, innocuously blue and tempting. The sliding door one floor down scraped open, and the mother stepped out with her now-whimpering daughter in her arms. 

He could hear her whispering to the little girl in a gentle voice that reminded him of his own Ma; 

"Hush, Sumayya, hush, _jaan._ It's okay. It's okay. You are so used to conquering the world, and now you can't even go outside, baby girl. It's no one's fault (Steve's stomach lurched at that). Come now, come, Sumi, let's sit outside and get some fresh air."

She began to sing, quietly, in a foreign language that Steve thought might be Hindi, or maybe Urdu. The little girl stopped whimpering and instead rested her small head on her mother's breast. After a few minutes of listening to singing, the little girl slapped a hand over her mom's mouth. Steve heard the mom gasp indignantly and couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. 

"Is someone else out here?" 

Caught, Steve guiltily leaned over and waved at his neighbors. 

"Hi there. I'm Steve, from the second floor." Hoping that his shirt was stain-free, Steve leaned out further so that he could see them more clearly. 

The woman was young, but clearly exhausted. Her loose linen shirt was wrinkled and her daughter wore only a onesie with a puffy diaper peeking out of the leg-holes.

"I'm Fatima. This is Sumayya, and my husband, Yaqoub, is inside on a work call." 

The baby laughed and pointed at Steve, clearly excited at meeting someone new after days of only seeing family. 

Steve's old-man instincts took over, and before he knew it, he'd spent 35 minutes playing peek-a-boo, and singing his old childhood nursery rhymes to his neighbor's daughter one floor down. Fatima smiled too, clapping her hands and playing too. Finally, when Sumayya started to flag, Fatima picked up her daughter.

"Thank you, Steve. Your kindness was already something I knew of, but this was... just what we needed. Thanks."

Brow furrowed, Steve called out "How can you know about me? We just met!" 

Fatima chuckled quietly, and shrugged. "You're a hard face to forget, Captain. We're all New Yorkers, and we keep track of our own. Ever wondered why no one's bothered you all these months?"

Steve's jaw dropped, and Fatima stepped back inside before he could respond further. 

\---

Darcy stopped playing music around week 3. It was odd-Steve thought he'd feel better about it, but it made the apartment seem emptier, and made him feel lonelier. 

He waited two days, and then his do-gooder instincts took over. He ripped out a sheet from his sketchbook and scribbled a, "You okay???" onto it, along with a doodle of a llama (there were llamas on her short-shorts that night he'd gone over, and he took it to mean she was fond of the quadrupeds). 

Too cowardly to look her in the eye, he'd taped the note to her door with a (fresh) bandaid. Then, he went back to his apartment and panicked about overstepping for an hour before cooking himself lunch. 

\--- 

The music didn't turn on the next day, but Steve found a note by his doorstep while returning from taking out the trash. The note was accompanied by a plate of something covered with cling-film. He picked up the letter with far more excitement than he did the plate, and glanced at the door besides his before stepping inside. 

He dithered for a moment, washing his hands for 30 seconds up to the elbows, then drying them carefully with a clean dish-towel. He thought about taking a shower, just to delay reading the letter a few moments more, but gave in quickly. The paper was loose-leaf, the edges carefully torn from a notebook. It was a longer note than his, her handwriting surprisingly delicate and precise for a woman so... (but he didn't know her well enough to finish that musing, so he just carried on reading). 

"Hi Steve. Thanks for checking in! I'm kind of creeped out, to be honest. I don't know how you knew that I was feeling really low these past few days. No one's figured it out from my real life. Basically, I just struggle with being away from my friends. They're basically my family, and I work with them, so my whole life is wrapped up in them. Now, I'm working from home, which is the shit because I'm in my jammies 24/7, but I also really miss human interaction and wearing winged eyeliner and stomping around the streets of New York. Sorry, that was kind of rant-y. I'm just out of my element. Can you tell I'm an extrovert? Anyways, thanks again. I'm okay. I reached out to some other friends and we are reconnecting. Still, I'd like to give you my number. We could... text? Does Captain America do memes? Shit, I hope no one intercepts my note. I'll stop here-I've said too much already." 

The note was neatly signed with a ten-digit phone number written in small, even digits. Steve definitely _did not_ clutch the note to his chest, but he did re-read it twice. 

Then, because he needed back up before texting Darcy, he called Bucky, who made him hang up so that he could call him back. Within 5 minutes, Steve was video-chatting with Sam and Natasha too, because Bucky was busy howling with laughter in the background. Steve felt bashful, but also glad that so many friends were willing to help him conquer his nerves and text a girl. Natasha was particularly pleased, giving him the half-smile that told him that she was _really, really_ happy. Sam's eyes were crinkling in a way that made Steve wish he could hug his best friends, and Bucky... well, Bucky was a rude mother fucker and was no help at all. 

It took two hours, a lot of beer, and several arguments before they settled on Steve sending Darcy a simple, "Hey there, neighbor. :)" 

Natasha and Bucky fought over the damn smiley face for _37 minutes_ (Sam had timed it) but Natasha had emerged the victor after holding Bucky down in a complicated thigh lock that had Steve feeling _shameful_ things. 

After punishing himself by trying some of Darcy's ginseng and green-tea cookies (they were inedible, so he had 3), he sent the text.

Darcy texted back pretty much immediately with a "What's up? Can't believe I have Thor AND Captain America's numbers now."

Steve laughed, and sent an old picture of himself with Thor from a revel last year. Thor was lifting Mjolnir in one hand and a Starbucks frappe in the other, while Steve laughed behind him.

Darcy one-upped him with a picture of Mjolnir, which was resting on a stack of file folders. A distraught brunette stood in the background with an irate expression on her face. 

They texted a few more pictures of Thor (Steve saved the picture of Thor wearing a fuzzy purple robe that was stretched indecently across his muscled body, forwarding the image to Tony as a goodwill gift) before Steve realized that it was almost 10 PM, and he hadn't eaten yet. He wished Darcy a simple "good night", and then went to the kitchen. An hour after cooking and consuming his dinner, Steve checked his phone. For a moment his heart leaped in his chest- he had _27_ unread texts, and he thought they might be from Darcy before he unlocked his phone and saw that they were from _Tony_ , who went from thanking Steve for his generosity to offering Steve a Rolex watch. The next three texts were pictures of opulent watches, and then next text was a " _nvm, I'm getting all three for you"_. Steve scrolled down to the final text, which was just a screenshot of a confirmation email for an order. Tony had thoughtfully cut the price of the order off from the screenshot, but Steve knew that his friend had gone overboard again. Still, he smiled fondly at his friend's overtures, and sent back "my pleasure, Tony. Use the picture for good, not evil."

The next morning, Thor's "quarantine chic" merch had dropped and all proceeds were being distributed to house at-risk and homeless youth across the country.

Steve woke up two days later to find 3 rolex watches (all very expensive and very much not Steve's style) along with a box full of comfy clothes with Thor's robed body emblazoned upon them. 

He grinned, then ordered a set of the merch in a women's medium. 

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Y'all have been so sweet. I had a good day because of this lil' fic, and now I can go to bed happy having posted another chapter! Let me know if something doesn't make sense or if I get my subj. verb agreement wrong anywhere (I'm an english teacher, this matters to me).   
> <3 besos <3


	3. "My vegan baklava!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Darcy get a little ~deep~ (though not in the way Steve would really like).  
> TW for mentions of anxiety and anxiety attacks.

Steve was used to change. The new world, with all of its technology and trends and memes, was often a confusing place, but the one thing Steve could count was the change itself. It was comforting walking down the street and seeing vendors hawk random foods that hadn't existed a month before (the cronut was an innovation Steve Rogers _really_ appreciated). New York since the Chitauri invasion had also evolved, with real estate developments popping up faster than the clean-up crews could clear away the rubble. 

That being said, some things never changed--

like Hydra, who didn't let something like a major pandemic stop them from being rude Nazi assholes who preyed on the vulnerable and terrorized the weak. Steve read the reports Fury sent him quietly, and set them aside gently. His spare bedroom had never housed a guest other than Bucky from time to time, so now it was operating as a make-shift gym, with a treadmill, and free-weights, and of course, Steve's beloved punching bag. Stark had reinforced a dozen bags for Steve, and he'd yet to pound one to smithereens--but after reading Fury's dossier and watching the cable news, he wanted to. 

He _really_ wanted to. 

Steve wrapped his hands methodically; first the left one, then the right. He began to land blows on the bag, building up to an unsteady rhythm. It took a moment for Steve's movements to flow- and then

_"Hydra operatives target make-shift hospitals in Kabul, promising imaginary vaccines to patients suffering from the virus. SHIELD does not yet know what the Hydra operatives are really injecting into the patients."_

"THWUMP. THWUMP."

_"14 tons of milk were disposed of today after sales goes down to record lows in the New England area. Meanwhile, food banks are running out of supplies and cannot help feed food-insecure families affected by the virus."_

"THWUMP. THWUMP."

_"A landlord in New Jersey taped a list of homeless shelters to each of his tenants doors after record numbers of Americans file for unemployment due to the virus bringing several industries to a halt. Economists predict that within 6 weeks, the rate of unemployment will rise to 10%, and thus increase the rate of homeless too."_

"THWUMP. THWUMP."

_"A surgeon in Saudi Arabia had to shout to prevent his son from hugging him after returning from a 3 day shift, fearful that he had brought home the virus; then, as the video shows, he breaks down in tears from the strain."_

Steve could faintly hear something, barely audible past the roaring. It sounded like a tapping, but he wasn't sure what was causing it. Slightly disoriented, he wiped his brow with his soaked shirt, and stumbled to his front door. 

As he turned the knob, a muffled voice shouted "Don't open the door! It's me, Darcy from next door. You okay?"

Steve felt his disorientation fade into confusion as he caught his breath. 

"I'm fine, Darcy. Just... I was just exercising. Was I making a racket?"

His enhanced hearing meant that he could hear Darcy inhale and then exhale, each breath lasting 3 counts. 

When Darcy did speak, her voice was steadier, though he could still detect a hint of worry. 

"You sounded like you were wrestling with a gorilla, Steve, grunting and shouting. You sounded... well, pissed off. I thought you might be upset. I guess I shouldn't have ran over, but..."

"No buts. I was just... I really was just exercising, but it was me boxin' and I do that whenever I'm stressed, or upset. I guess I got too into it. Lost myself, a bit."

Darcy huffed out a laugh, and Steve heard her lean against his door. Gingerly, he leaned against his door too, imagining what it might feel like to lean against her real back, warm and comfortable, skin to skin. 

"What was stressing you out, Steve?" 

He thought about lying, but there was no point-he (and apparently most of the building) knew who was. She might get it.

"You ever read something in the news that gets you feeling so helpless, you just...."

Darcy finished the thought for him. "You wanna punch the shit out of something until you feel less angry, less useless. I get it."

Disbelieving, Steve asked, "What makes you wanna punch shit, Darcy? You seem pretty together. Not an inarticulate mess like me."

Something slid against the door and landed on the ground with a quiet thud. Her answering snort came from from lower now, so Steve sat down too, waiting for her to continue. 

"I'm definitely articulate, buddy, but I am also a mess. I'm codependent on my friends to a degree that has up till recently not been apparent to me. I have a Political Science degree that doesn't have jack to do with my work. My mom thinks I have Peter Pan syndrome because I still like day of the week underwear, and Steve, I can't watch the news or read an article without my heart dropping. They tell us to make the world a better place when we're little, and like the idiots that we are, we believe them. Our teachers, our parents, the politicians on TV. They lie, and pretend that small people like me can change the world, when really we're all just puppets in a show where billionaires and private interests pull our strings, this way and that. We're all trapped, be it by poverty, or capitalism, or inequality. We're all helpless, and this moment in time is highlighting _all_ the ways that we are unable to affect change, Steve. I don't know if you can relate, because you very much defy all of those traits, but that's how I feel these days."

Heart in throat, Steve nodded before remembering that she couldn't see him. 

"I uh, I get how that feels. I didn't always have these... abilities, or this body. I'm a lab experiment that went right. And earlier, I read a lot of news that upset me because...I don't get to help right now. I can't traipse around with my shield and fix problems wherever I go. And the problems upsetting me ain't even the kind you can fix with a punch or a kick. It's people losin' their homes because there's no more jobs to be had. It's grocery store brawls over baby formula and toilet paper, and scared folks worried that their food-stamps won't be worth shit because the rich will have already grabbed everything they can off the shelves before they even have a chance to go to a store. It's doctors and nurses working without supplies or gear because the bureaucrats are dragging their feet, taking long weekends. I see little kids home from school sharing one laptop between three kids, tryna finish their assignments that their poor teachers are scraping together on the fly because they're workin' from home too. It's all the same kind of fear I remember from the Depression, but this time there's no goddamn reason for it. There's enough of everything out there, but the bigwigs and the politicians don't wanna lose a cent, even if it means helping people in their darkest hours. I can't stand it. I can go out and condemn this on the news and maybe one or two corporations will cow, but I can't fix the inequalities, Darce. Sorry, I don't know if i can call you that."

Steve waited for Darcy to reply, but she didn't. He waited another moment, and then another. Worried that he'd scared her off, he stood and carefully opened the door. 

Darcy was still on the floor, legs crossed at the ankles. Dark brown curls fell around her face, obscuring her features as she slumped with her hands on her face. She was crying, of course, and Steve hand't even realized it. He wanted to put his arms around her and apologize for upsetting her, but then she looked up. Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but she mustered a watery smile and hefted herself up off the ground. 

"I'm just... I'm sorry, Steve, I just cry a lot lately. You must think I'm a wreck."  
  


Steve shook his head, glad that she could see him and hopeful that she would read his face and understand what he was feeling too.

"No, Darcy. I'm just glad to have someone to talk to about this. I don't want to let anyone down or disappoint 'em by revealing these anxieties."

Darcy's lower lip wobbled again, and Steve fought back the irrational urge to steady them with a kiss. Surprisingly, the usual shame didn't manifest- only a quiet sadness, followed by a faint echo of something warm. 

They gazed at each other a moment more, and Steve imagined himself hugging her, resting his chin atop her head and holding her close. It was irrational, but still he felt no shame.

Darcy broke the silence when she suddenly jerked, as if waking from a long sleep. She cried out, "My vegan baklava!", and ran back to her place, vaguely waving goodbye to him. 

Steve winced at the thought of her ruining one of his favorite desserts, and then smiled. The rage from earlier wasn't gone, but he'd talked about it. Sam would be proud. 

\---

After that day, Darcy and Steve texted more often. She started it, sending him a picture of blackened lumps of pastry that resembled coal more than baklava. Steve responded with a screaming-face emoji, one that he'd never bothered using before. 

A few hours passed. Steve was busy sketching a forest he'd remembered trekking through during the war with the Howling Commandos when his phone buzzed repeatedly. He finished a few more lines of his drawing before wiping his hands with a rag and checking his phone. 

Three images loaded, each a picture of Darcy wearing a different piece of Stark's Thor merchandise. 

The pictures were followed by a text of orange-heart emojis--Steve struggled for a moment to analyze the significance of the color orange before laughing at himself. He tapped out a response, and then went back to his artwork. 

Later that night, Steve was on the phone visiting with Sharon, who was stationed in Pyongyang with some part of US intelligence that she wasn't allowed to tell him about. He'd gotten closer to Sharon after bumping into her at the hospice facility Peggy had lived at back in DC. They'd gotten coffee at a nearby diner and talked, discussing Pierce and Hydra and SHIELD and of course, the bond that linked them forever. Steve asked Sharon questions he could never ask Peggy, like Sharon's opinion of her husband (Daniel was a rock to Peg, even when things were frosty. He's probably the only reason Peggy didn't assassinate a president during the Cold War, Steve) or how Peggy was really doing, health-wise. She told him stories of Peggy that helped him see beyond his limited image of his beloved girl in army green, shooting and killing with the best of them. He learned about Peggy the mother, who wiped applesauce from her babies' mouths and taught her daughters to defend themselves. He learned about Peggy the aunt, who gave her niece no advantages during her time at SHIELD's specialist academy. 

That conversation led to exchanged phone numbers, and monthly catch-up sessions. Steve still kept in touch, but less frequently. Sharon had reached out a few days earlier, asking to schedule a chat that would align with their different time zones. 

It was 9 PM in New York, which meant it was only 10 AM in South Korea. Sharon as fresh-faced and beautiful as ever, though appearing slightly grainy on Steve's laptop screen. She was doing a plank while she spoke (something that made Steve wonder if _she_ had some kind of serum injected in her), whereas Steve was lying on the sofa with a bowl of hot cheetos resting on his stomach and a homemade iced coffee besides him. 

After discussing their jobs (saving the world was chaotic, and yet very repetitive, Steve found, so he never discussed it for too long), Sharon began to talk about her new girlfriend. From what Sharon was willing to let slip, she'd met Soojin at a work training, and fallen for the woman _hard_. 

"She has skin that looks like it's made out of glass, Steve! It's ridiculous--she saw a zit on my face last week and asked me if I needed to go to a doctor, she thought it meant I was sick! But she's so sweet, she helps me with my Korean and surprises me with my favorite American snacks at work." 

Sharon was doing Russian Twists while holding a 40 lb. weight, and Steve wondered if her abs looked more defined than his over the webcam while he replied, "She sounds amazing, Sharon. What does she do?"

Switching to doing sumo squats while still holding the weight, Sharon grinned. "She's a caterer, and I've never been less fit in my life!" 

Steve considered ending the call right there, but ignored his hypocritical anger instead. 

Sharon continued to gush about Soojin, showing Steve a picture of a plump young woman with a heart-shaped face and kind eyes.

(For a split-second, an image Sharon's strong tanned body straddling Soojin's pale soft one flashed in Steve's mind, but he was able to shake off the disrespectful thought with a quick pinch to his thigh).

He was about to ask Sharon whether she'd thought of buying a ring yet when she beat him to the punch.

"Natasha says you've got a little lady-friend yourself. You sly dog"

Choking on a hot cheeto, Steve spluttered before stammering, "She's not my lady-friend, there's no-she's not-". 

Sharon laughed, but also stopped what she was doing to grab her phone from where she'd balanced it. 

"It's okay, Steve! Nat's just being Nat. You know how she is about collecting intel on her loved ones. It's how she shows that she cares."

Steve took an angry sip of his iced coffee and stayed quiet.

Sharon took a long gulp of water, and then sat down on her yoga mat. Up close, she was flushed and red, but still as beautiful as he remembered. Fondness overtook the anger quickly. 

"I don't wanna make you uncomfortable Steve. We can talk about something else. How's Bucky?" 

Steve thought about letting Sharon change the subject, but then remembered how much better he felt after discussing his feelings with Darcy. Sighing, he set aside the bowl and sat up. 

"No, it's fine. I can talk about my _friend_ (Sharon narrowed her eyes at the emphasis on friend, but let it slide) without falling apart. Nat's just bein' nosy. She's my neighbor."

Sharon listened as Steve described the way he met Darcy (minus the part where her beauty was so overwhelming that he regressed into a randy teenager who couldn't keep his hands off of himself moments after meeting her), laughing at the details about Darcy's shitty cooking and bizarre musical tastes. She smiled softly when Steve described how Darcy helped calm him down after what had ended up being a pretty severe anxiety attack that day, and clucked her tongue sympathetically when he said that he wasn't sure why he liked her so much.

After another half-hour of less heavy topics, Sharon blew Steve a kiss and hung up, leaving Steve to gaze at himself in the blackness of his blank screen. He was handsome, he supposed. The nose situation was still pretty bleak in his opinion, but that was the Irish in him, and as Bucky had always said, at least he'd grown into the thing after the serum. 

He had a nice enough face, he knew, but why else would someone like him? The muscles? The abilities? He was a mess, a horny wreck who had anxiety attacks and couldn't cope with being alone for more than a little while. 

Standing in front of his mirror later, Steve pinched his abs sand sighed. He was still as insecure as he'd been as a 4F shrimp during the war, only now he could reach the top shelf at the grocery store. Still, Steve could perfectly picture Darcy's face when she'd first gotten a look at him; her wary ice-blue eyes had warmed instantly, and he'd seen her eyes scan him from top to bottom. She'd liked what she'd seen, probably. Steve's cheeks flushed as he imagined Darcy looking at him as he stood in his bathroom, in his shorts and nothing else. She'd probably wear the llama shorts again, maybe with one of his t-shirts, or a sports bra. Steve shivered, and tried to stop himself from picturing Darcy that way, when she owed him nothing, not even in his imagination, but it felt _good_ , the desire. 

He'd had practice tamping it down, especially when he'd feel heated looking at his friends or imagining them, but he knew it was more than just the serum. Even at his weakest, Steve had known _want_ -hadn't had those wants met, not really, but he knew what he felt was more than normal. The SHIELD/Hydra therapist he'd visited for a few months after his defrosting said it made sense; the serum enhanced all of his instincts, so why not lust and desire? 

Steve supposed that was true, but it was moments like these that made him wish it wasn't the case. He was aching and hard, alone in his bathroom for what had to be the umpteenth time in his life, lusting after someone he couldn't have.

Stripping off the shorts with a curse, Steve stepped into the shower and pictured the llama shorts on the floor next to his discarded ones...

\--- 

Later, Steve lay in bed, feeling more alone that usual. He'd tried listening to a session on his meditation app, but it had only irritated him enough to throw his phone on the ground (gently, because he valued his belongings, thank you very much). 

The ceiling fan spun lazily, and for a few minutes, Steve let the silent movement lull him into a stupor. He didn't want to think about his anxiety attack from earlier that day, but he supposed he had to. It'd been a while since he'd been triggered like that, but the combination of a lifestyle change and a pandemic probably justified the random attack. Sighing, Steve sat up, sheets rucked up around his waist. He leaned off the bed and swiped his phone from where he'd tossed it. To his surprise, he saw a text from Darcy in his notifications.

"Hey friend. Wanted to check in on you. How was the rest of your day?"

Steve closed his eyes, wishing that there was no pandemic so that he could go next door and _tell_ Darcy how his day had gone. 

Another text had appeared by the time Steve had gathered himself again.

"I felt better after talking to you. You're different from what I'd expected, but in a good way."

Steve thought for a moment, and then replied, typing as fast as his large fingers would let him.

"Thank you for checking in. My day went better after our talk. I was able to get back to baseline after chatting through the door. We should do that more often."

Hoping that he wasn't being too forward, Steve lay back against the pillows, wishing that Bucky hadn't chosen wild sex with Natasha over social distancing with him. His best friend knew how to pull him out of these moods, and there was never any fear that Bucky would begrudge Steve for relying on him. With Darcy, he had no way of being sure.

The phone vibrated again. And again. And then Steve realized that it was a phone call, not a text, so he picked up and swiped "accept" without thinking.

"Steve! What are you doing tomorrow morning?"

She sounded breathless, but still bright as ever, and Steve had to wonder what Darcy had been doing before she'd texted him.

"I'm... I'm doing nothing, Darcy, and after that, I have a whole morning full of nothing scheduled, but I might be able to squeeze you in before lunch."

Darcy snorted again (and it was strange, how an unattractive sound could make Steve want to hug his pillow tight).

"You smart-ass. Wanna have a breakfast date together? Tomorrow?"

Steve didn't waste time in trying to seem cool.

"Yes! I mean, yes, I would like that. You wanna sit outside my door again? Or I can sit outside yours?"

Darcy laughed more wryly this time. 

"I know we did that to avoid spreading the virus, but Steve, this is New York. I'm scared that I caught a UTI from sitting on the floor for so long, so no. Do you have a laptop? We could videochat while we eat. Hey, we could cook together too?"

Steve eagerly made plans with Darcy for their breakfast date. She taught him about some kind of coffee hack that he was sure he'd seen on the internet months before, and he promised to show her how he poached eggs perfectly (for avocado toast, of course). 

(A small voice in Steve's brain berated him, reminding him that this _wasn't_ a date.)

Steve was tired of being bullied by his own mind, so he did what he always did to bullies: he stood up to them. 

He interrupted Darcy, who was talking about the merits of almond butter over peanut butter. 

"Yeah Steve?"

"Is tomorrow just a breakfast date? Or is it... a breakfast _date_?" Steve's voice wobbled for a moment, but he managed to get it out before his bravado could peter out. 

He could hear Darcy considering his question for what felt like a lifetime, but was really only a moment.

She murmured something to herself that Steve couldn't pick up over the phone.

"Darcy, you there?"

"Yes, Steve. I'm here. And you know what? Tomorrow is a _date._ I like you. You like me. Why should I panic because you're literally Captain America?" 

Before Steve could process what she had just revealed, Darcy quickly bade him good night, and hung up. Feeling dumbstruck, Steve lay back and stared at his fan again. 

It was a _date._ A virtual, pandemic-induced, date. 

What the fuck was he going to _wear?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, thank you so much. You response has been so warm and kind. I really appreciate it. We are all going through something traumatic, and to know that you guys enjoy reading this makes me enjoy writing this even more. This fiction is taking my mind off the really big things troubling it.
> 
> I don't normally advertise this, but you can find me on Tumblr at beckywiththegoodhijab.tumblr.com. Give me a follow if you don't mind my shit. :)


	4. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets another neighbor, suffers from more deviant horniness, and finally finds some clarity--all before 10 AM on a Tuesday.

Darcy had suggested 9 AM for their date(!), stating over text that she was a "millennial schlub who hated early mornings".

Steve had agreed the night before, but woke up the next morning before dawn, hunger gnawing at his belly. Ignoring hunger wasn't an option for a supersoldier's hyper-active metabolism, so Steve stumbled to his kitchen and rummaged in his fridge for two ready-made protein shakes. The shakes tasted vaguely of chocolate-flavored chalk, but they staved off hunger pangs pretty well, so he didn't much mind.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Steve made his way back to bed. It was still dark out, hardly 5 AM, and his eyes drooped as he climbed back under the covers. Steve had gone a bit crazy with the online shopping the week before, and new packages appeared every day. He wasn't used to owning more than what could fit in a few boxes, so each time his phone pinged with a notification that his package was delivered, he felt as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. For example, the new quilt on his bed had been hand-made by a woman who sold her wares on Etsy. He'd picked a quilt the same butter-yellow as his ma's shortbread cookies. Wrapping himself up in the quilt, Steve drifted off to sleep.

\---

When he woke, it was light out.

Afraid for a moment that he'd slept through his date(!), Steve's hand shot out from under the covers, groping blindly for his phone on his side table- 7:48 AM. Relieved that he still had time to prepare, Steve stretched and luxuriated in bed a moment longer. He'd never, _ever_ enjoyed sleeping or staying in bed as much as he had over the past two weeks. Somehow, his mind had replaced its previous aversion to staying in bed, probably because he'd stopped associated resting in bed with being an invalid.

Now, staying in bed meant reading a good book, or watching a film, or just dozing comfortably. 

Feeling well-rested and excited, Steve detangled himself from his covers and went to the bathroom to relieve himself. After washing his hands and brushing his teeth, Steve's military instincts kicked in, and he made his bed with sharp military corners. The quilt he folded carefully after spritzing it with a vanilla fabric scent he'd impulse-purchased 3 days ago. Unsure of what to do with his time after making his bed, Steve headed to his living room. The pale morning sun filtered through his curtains, catching dust motes in the light.

After getting a pot of coffee brewing, Steve stepped onto his fire-escape. The early morning air was damp and cold, but the sun's rays warmed Steve's bare chest and legs comfortably. When the coffee was ready, Steve went back to his kitchen to pour himself a cup. After doctoring it with cream and sugar, Steve returned to his fire-escape. Mug in hand, he watched as New York City slowly stirred. The city was normally bustling by 6 AM on a weekday, but today, and everyday for the last few weeks, it was slow. There was movement in the streets, but it was unhurried, leisurely. It was pleasant, though the harsh reality was never really far from the forefront of Steve's mind.

He was almost done with his coffee when a rustling noise to his left caught his attention. Glancing over, Steve finally caught sight of the neighbor Darcy had referred to the night they'd met. Unlike Steve's space, his neighbor's fire-escape was filled with potted plants, which was totally against fire-code, but very aesthetically pleasing to Steve's artistic eyes. The woman, who had to be Mrs. Chang, was watering plants from a bucket, using an old fast-food cup as a watering can. Her back was stooped so that she looked shorter than normal for an adult woman. Hair that was more white than black was neatly braided and coiled on the woman's head, and Steve's mind took him back to Winifred Barnes' kitchen on Passover, where she served brisket with her similarly coiled hair covered by a silken scarf from her wedding chest. Steve drank in the details of the scene as a potential sketch appeared in his mind. The old woman then turned to face Steve. He tried to back away, but Mrs. Chang waved excitedly and gestured him to come closer. 

Unsure of what else to do, Steve leaned forward and cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out, "Good morning!"

The old woman-Mrs. Chang-smiled toothily. Her brown eyes snapped with wit as she practically shouted, 

"Good morning! I forgot I had a neighbor--when this is all over, you come over for dinner, okay young man? You're too skinny!"

Ignoring the fact that he probably a good 30 years on the woman, Steve nodded politely.

He tried to wave goodbye, but Mrs. Chang continued, eyeing him mischievously.

"Young man, you need to wear a robe! You are too beautiful! Some nice girl will eat you up for breakfast if she see you like that!"

Mrs. Chang's words hadn't left her mouth before Steve felt an unwelcome, familiar stirring in his gut. Without saying goodbye, he practically ran back to the safety of his apartment. Without rinsing out his cup, Steve made a beeline for his bathroom. The bathroom lights felt too bright on the thin skin of his eyelids, so he sat on the closed toilet and took several deep breaths. 

He kept picturing Darcy, pretty Darcy. Her pink lips wet and warm on his skin, _eating_ him, _devouring_ him, appetite voracious and fierce as a lioness. Her hair would be wild and untamed around her as she leaned over him, eyes bright as she looked up at him, pink lips wrapped around--

Steve finished in his hand, and groaned aloud.

"Fuck. Fuck!" There were no other words for how disgusting he felt. He was taking advantage, he was the lowest of the low. He took the coldest shower that he could, skin bright red and heart pounding when he stepped out.

\---

Steve stood in his towel, debating himself. His first instinct was to go formal, a button down shirt perhaps, but he shook his head. Darcy wore shorts with llamas on them, for fuck's sake. 

After a few false-starts, Steve settled on a pair of sweatpants that were dark grey and slightly less loose than he preferred (Natasha had once waxed rhapsodic about men in grey sweats, but Steve had tuned her out, unwilling to listen to her objectify the male body for the 4th time that day). He paired it with a white t-shirt Clint had given him for his birthday the year before (EST 1918 stretched in faded red letters across his chest), and opted to skip shoes in favor of bare feet. 

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't do more than muss his hair into a semblance of its usual neat 'do with his fingers. It was something he could remember Bucky doing to prepare for dates, before the war had put an end to dates altogether.

Satisfied, Steve returned to his kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee. He stood in front of his fridge and eyed its contents critically; he knew that Darcy cared about food and its preparation (regardless of how shitty her preparation may be). 

Inspired, he got out his ingredients and arranged them on his counters. It was 8:49 when he remembered that he hadn't checked his phone since waking up; thankfully, all he'd missed was a text from Tony ("got any Thor nudes?" followed by "FOR CHARITY"), and an invitation from Zoom for a meeting. 

Steve felt his nervousness ratchet up as he set up his laptop on his kitchen counter, placing it atop a stack 4 of coffee-table books on art. 

With 3 minutes to kill, Steve started reading the news on his phone. Quickly engrossed, he almost didn't hear the notification on his laptop indicating that the Zoom meeting had started. 

"Steve? You there?" 

The sound of Darcy's voice inside his home jolted Steve back to reality. 

"Darcy! Hey! Sorry, I'm here." Steve walked into view of the laptop, and waved awkwardly. Darcy had clearly had the same idea as him, as he could see that she'd set up shop in the kitchen as well. 

Darcy smiled sleepily, taking a long swig of her coffee before speaking.

"Good morning, gorgeous." 

Her compliment barely registered before Steve realized that Darcy was kind of fully dressed for once, and he had to swallow twice before he could respond.

"Hey Darcy. You look... you look great! Not that llama pants aren't great, but I like this look too!"

Darcy snorted and rolled her eyes, but Steve wasn't lying. Her hair was still riotous as ever, but she'd clearly tamed the waves into a smoother, more controlled shape. Black eyeliner was flicked out at the corner of each eye, and the pink lips Steve had pictured that very morning were painted a bright red. 

Darcy didn't wait for formalities, and carried her laptop in one hand as she took Steve on what she called a "Fridge Tour".

Steve listened and responded, but he was too busy drinking in Darcy- the way her lipstick had stained her coffee mug in three different places, the way her Culver sweatshirt was faded and well-worn in contrast to her athletic shorts. Darcy ambitiously began to prepare some shakshuka, while Steve set about the decidedly less glamorous task of making oatmeal and french toast. 

Steve asked Darcy about her background, and watched as Darcy talked while jabbing a chef's knife in the air to emphasize her points. 

She cracked eggs messily as she told him that she was "perfectly normal, thank you very much" and that she'd grown up in "the mean streets of Lima, Ohio to a family that was disgustingly nuclear". 

Somewhere in the conversation, Darcy turned her attention to him, and suddenly, Steve was the one being watched as he spoke. He talked a little about being an Avenger, about coming back to Brooklyn after DC. 

Steve added maple syrup to his French Toast batter and described life before the war as "pretty shitty, especially the food, and bein' sickly, and having an estimated lifespan of 22 years". He heard Darcy's intake of breath, but kept going--honesty was all he had when it came to his past. 

"All I had was me 'n Buck- Ma passed when I was 18, and after that I was on my own. Worked as an advertisement illustrator for a while, but when the war started, the funds for that kinda work dried up. It was home, but it was hard living. No one had it easy." 

Steve continued, discussing the 4F forms and the rejections, Bucky's enlistment, and the final disastrous double date. 

Darcy laughed at his recollections of boot-camp, rolled her eyes at stories of Howard Stark, and winced when he talked about learning of Bucky's capture at Azzano. She smiled at his tales of working with the Commandos and whistled when he described Peggy in _that_ red dress. 

Before he realized it, Steve was plating his food, and had just told Darcy about telling Peggy to save him a dance before downing a plane into the Arctic ocean. 

"And a week after I've been defrosted, aliens attacked New York City."

"Steve-" Darcy's voice was a little strangled, and he turned to the webcam to see Darcy wiping her eyes with her sleeve. 

"Darcy, I'm so sorry--s'rude to talk so much, especially on a first date--"

"Shut the fuck up Steve." Darcy blew her nose on a dishtowel and shook her head. "I'm not mad that you're sharing--you're actually doing very well in the communication department so far, 10/10 points. I just... can't believe that you survived all that. That you _lived_ a whole life, and then you just... sacrificed it for the greater good??? How do I measure up to that?!" 

"Listen-"

"It's okay, Steve. Forget about it."

Darcy turned around to stir her ominously bubbling pot, so Steve chose to stay quiet and set his place at the table.

He waited as Darcy plated up a a surprisingly pleasant looking plate of eggs cooked in some kind of red sauce. Steve felt the irrational urge to sketch her delicate fingers as she garnished the dish with chopped cilantro and feta cheese, but stopped himself from grabbing a pen when she finally looked up at him.

With barely hidden shock, Steve exclaimed, "Hey, Darcy, that looks great!"

She grinned, and sat down on a barstool near her counter. Before replying, she took a large spoonful of shakshuka and held it towards the webcam: "Want a taste, Stevie?" 

The nickname and the silly gesture warmed Steve's cheeks as he pretended to open his mouth. He did the same, offering her a spoonful of his oatmeal, which she wrinkled her nose at in feigned disgust. 

They ate, Darcy at the counter and Steve at his little table. It was a little quiet, peppered only with mentions of difficult-to-acquire groceries and crazy shopping experiences in the midst of a pandemic. He finished his food well before she did, despite the fact that his breakfast would normally be enough to feed a family of 3. Sipping his coffee, Steve watched Darcy eat, a little messily and with gusto.

When she did finish, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and leaned back against the counter.

"Damn, I'm full. That was _ridiculous_ _ly_ stupid of me, I have to collate data for Jane later today and I can't do that if I'm in a food coma!"

Steve laughed appreciatively, but really he was looking at the way Darcy's lipstick had smudged after she'd wiped her mouth.

He listened to her talk about her boss and her work. She spoke expansively of New Mexico sunsets and wide-open desert roads, passion coloring every word and gesture. That was it--the word that he'd been looking for that day, when he'd been surprised about her neat handwriting.

She was so _passionate--_ she seemed like a person who'd write with large flourishes in a messy scrawl.

She cooked like she was a master chef, and told stories of her past like an ancient oracle uttering prophecies of great import.

The sight of Darcy using a fork to act out her tasing Thor was so moving that Steve really couldn't help himself when he blurted out "God, I wish I could touch you!" 

Darcy froze, still clutching the dirty fork. Her pale cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes searched his face for something he couldn't pinpoint. 

She whispered, "Really?", voice breaking a little on the second syllable of "really". Steve's hands clenched into fists as humiliation washed over him.

Eyes trained on the table, Steve apologized, mumbling "Sorry, I'm sorry-that wasn't appropriate of me, I didn't even ask if you thought about me like that-"

Darcy made a disbelieving noise in her throat, and Steve looked up at her through his eyelashes, unsure of what she meant.

"Steve? Do you really believe I don't think of you like that?"

Unable to form words clearly, Steve shrugged and looked down at the table again, focusing on a glob of oatmeal that had fallen from his spoon. Disgust welled up inside him as awaited the inevitable--the rebuke, the rejection, the revulsion.

It didn't come immediately though, and after a minute Steve chanced a look at the laptop screen. Darcy was gone, her empty plate the only evidence that she'd even been there in the first place. A faint buzzing filled Steve's mind, as he processed being stood up on a _Zoom date._

Loud knocking snapped Steve out of his confusion, and he stood to investigate it on unsteady legs. 

He opened his front door to find no one, at first. Then he stuck his head out into the hall and saw Darcy, pacing near her own apartment. She was even more beautiful in person, shakshuka splatters staining her old Culver sweater red in three different splotches. Steve stepped out into the hall and crossed his arms, unsure of what was about to happen. 

Darcy stopped pacing and faced him, keeping her distance. She was shorter than he'd realized, with little dimples on her shorts-clad thighs that made him ache with want ( _no, that was the problem right there, stop it)_. Chin held up as if in a fight, Darcy looked up at Steve.

"Why do you think I'm not attracted to you?"

Steve's knees buckled, but then he drew on nonexistent reserves of composure and shook his head no. Then he changed his mind and nodded, and then he just slumped his shoulders and muttered, "I'm not sure, Darcy. I'm shit at this. Over-reacting to nothing and getting anxious when I feel like I'm oversteppin' boundaries..."

Darcy's eyes glittered as she quirked a single eyebrow quizzically.

"Which boundaries have we set? You've been polite, considerate. You respect my space, you check in on me without being creepy. No crossed boundaries as far as I can tell, buddy."

Steve entered dangerous territory by looking Darcy straight in the eye as he spoke. 

"I just don't know what to do unless I'm _told_ , clearly, what's okay and what's not okay. I never want to do something you wouldn't want-"

Darcy's eyebrows flew up again, and Steve went quiet. He stared at his bare feet, feeling vulnerable in his bare feet. 

"Steve...let me be really, really clear, okay?"

Darcy's voice was low, but steady, and infinitely softer than Steve anticipated. 

"You have been a _perfect_ gentleman. You respect all of my unspoken boundaries. You go out of your way to be kind and considerate. Why are you in such a tizz about being inappropriate?"

The same reckless courage that made Steve confront oversized bullies in alleyways forced him to speak, although Steve wished the ground would swallow him up whole as he whispered, "I've pictured you when I'm alone..."

He took a deep breath, reminded himself that _she'd agreed to go out on a date with him_ , and continued.

"That first night, I kept goin' back to your image in my head. Had no right to, but... I wanted you. Never felt attraction like that, Darcy, so sudden, and it makes me nervous... I guess I'm scared that you won't want me back, and that I'll have to accept that I was inappropriate without you havin' any say."

Darcy's hands were trembling slightly as she took off her glasses and cleaned their lenses with the sleeve of sweatshirt. 

Replacing them on her face, she locked her gaze with Steve and slowly smiled. She looked him up and down again, and something in her face changed; the hesitation disappeared, and was replaced with _intent._

"It's a good thing I don't care about things like _being appropriate_ Steven.

Blinking, Steve waited for his brain to understand what she meant.

Darcy smiled even wider, one finger curling a lock of hair absently as she bit her lip.

"I think that you need me to tell it you straight, Steve. You wanna know what I thought when you knocked on my door that night to yell at me about my music?"

Steve frowned, but Darcy cut him off before he could interject. 

"Uh-uh, you were totally about to show up to my door like an angry, hot dad, to ask me if I knew how late it was, how loud my music was. Don't lie, Steve. Anyways, the minute I opened the door, you know what I thought?"

Steve shook his head, feeling a little light-headed.

"I saw you, and I immediately thought about touching your chest, Steve. One look at you, and I was fantasizing about my hands on your shoulders, your arms. All over you. The _moment_ _I saw you_ , I wanted you, Steve. So I have you beat when it comes to being inappropriate, no matter what you think. I'm ridiculously _into_ you, even though you are like, _way_ out of my league. Okay?"

Steve's eyes narrowed, as his laser focus returned and honed in on most provocative thing Darcy had just said. 

"What do you mean, outta my league?" 

It was Darcy's turn to look meek as Steve straightened, finally on solid ground. Darcy bit her lip again and frowned, shaking her head.

"Guys like you are one in a million, and I'm just not... I'm not that special, Steve. I heard you talk about your Peggy, and it just reiterates that point. Sure, you find me physically attractive, and I can accept that, but...the rest of me? I don't know, Steve. I'm not a killer queen in a red dress, saving the world in heels or whatever..."

Steve took a measured step towards Darcy, who squared her shoulders, bracing herself for a blow. 

"Darcy... Peggy meant everything to me. Still does. And _she's_ the one in a million kinda gal who taught me to kill doubt with certainty where it matters the most. I usually use that principle on the battlefield, but right now...I'm certain that I want you, and now, I don't doubt that you want me too. I'm sure if you're sure. Whatever you're comfortable with...I want that, and probably more."

Steve paused, running his hands through his hair as forced himself to keep going.

"That's my problem, Darcy. I always want _more_ , and right now, it's killing me that I can't touch ya. It's burning me up to look at you and not know how your hair feels on my palms. To not kiss you..."

Breathing heavily, Steve stepped back, not trusting his body to remember to keep its distance. Darcy leaned back against her front door and tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She seemed to retreat into herself, so he waited, body vibrating from the effort it took to stay quiet and still. 

After what felt like an eternity, Darcy straightened up and nodded decisively to herself. 

At first, Steve didn't hear what she'd said. She repeated herself, voice pitched a bit higher.

"I said, how do you feel about a movie night? Is that an okay idea for a second date?" Darcy had aimed for casual, but the tremor and hint of a wobble in her voice made something in Steve's gut uncoil. He nodded, tingling with relief.

Darcy grinned, baring her white teeth in a way that made Steve wonder if she'd bite him while kissing--and instead of tamping down the image of her lips on his neck, Steve let the image linger in his mind as he replied, "A movie sounds _perfect_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope you are well, and if you aren't, know that I am thinking of you. Thank you for your comments and words of encouragement. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's very special to me, as I've really come to be fond of this characterization of Steve. As always, please comment if you like this!
> 
> <3 besos


	5. the world's most persistent boner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helplessness hits Steve hard; Steve hits back, harder.  
> Bucky is a crude jerk, but we love him anyways.  
> A (totally irresponsible) kiss occurs!  
> And, introducing the world's most persistent boner!!!!!!
> 
> TW: for descriptions of anxiety and just generally sad feelings. if money probs are a thing for you at the moment, be tender with yourself.

The cozy illusion that Steve had built around his forced seclusion crumbled around week 5. He wasn't sure what had triggered it at first--for three weeks he'd been floating on cloud 9.

He'd spent a couple of hours talking to Darcy almost every day since their trainwreck of a first date. They'd each go about their days with video chat open, and while Darcy was genuinely busy with work and chores and her normal routine, Steve was only _pretending_ to be busy--really, he was doing reconnaissance, observing his target with the same critical eye that was responsible for taking down over a dozen Hydra strongholds during the second World War. While Darcy made fancy whipped coffee, Steve was memorizing the blue of her eyes and the laugh lines near her mouth. When Darcy sat on the floor and haphazardly folded her laundry, Steve noted her taste in colors and her clothing size. He wasn't being creepy, although he could see how that could be contested by an outsider. He'd discussed it with Sam a few days after his declaration of interest in Darcy. 

Because Sam's character far surpassed Steve's, his friend had started volunteering as a virtual counselor when the pandemic hit its peak. Steve missed his friend, but was proud to see Sam using his god-given skills to help others during a crisis that _didn't_ involve shooting or guns. 

Unlike Bucky, Sam didn't laugh when Steve talked about Darcy--he just smiled, and Steve immediately had to mention that "Darcy has a gap in her smile like your's, Sam!", and his friend's smile got even wider then. 

Sam had listened when Steve exclaimed "I want to know everything about her! She'll be typing something or texting, and I'll watch her fingers to see what shape her nails are. Am I bein... what'd Nat call it? A creeper? Because I don't want to violate any boundaries--" 

And Sam, being a saint, cut Steve off there, reassuring Steve that this phase of a relationship was "incredibly normal, even by your standards. You're just infatuated, so you wanna learn everything about her, and being in isolation is just amplifying your desire to get to know this new person who is important to you. Also, Steve? You're a good fuckin' guy. The weirdest thing you might do with this information is figure out Darcy's ring size just by remembering what her fingers look like. The day you start acting all Joe from "You", I'll kick your ass myself!" 

(This prompted Steve to watch "You" all by himself, and he was HORRIFIED and incredibly reassured that his obsession with Darcy was based in true affection and respect, and not a horrible desire to control and consume a woman to the point of killing her).

But even Darcy's very distracting company couldn't keep the reality of the situation from creeping into Steve's psyche.

He'd been taking out his trash when he heard the sound of raised voices coming from the lobby of his building. 

"I told you, Mr. Jones, I will get you my rent as _soon_ as I can. I'm sorry, but the restaurant cut my hours by 75%--"

Steve strode across the lobby to catch Gabriella (a widowed mom of 2 who'd baked cookies for him when he'd first moved in) crying and pleading with their landlord.

Because Pepper Potts was a superior human who used her powers for good, Steve had never dealt with Jones before. She'd made it so his rent was paid out of his account (which held more money than he could bear to imagine some days) automatically. Natasha fixed his sink for him anytime it sprung a leak, and Sam helped him install his fancy Stark appliances.

Steve pretended to check his mail as he covertly watched the situation unfold. Jones was a large, pallid man with skin that reminded Steve of old mayonnaise. He slouched, but still towered over his smaller tenant, crowding into her body--even without a pandemic dictating societal norms, the guy stood way too close to the woman. Steve's palms itched as he listened to the man speak, disrespect leaking out of Jones' pores as he raked his eyes up and down Gabriella's cowering figure. 

"Rent's due on the first, sweetheart. Ain't no exceptions just because you can't manage your money." Wincing, Steve listened as Gabriella pleaded again, citing an unexpected repair to car that ate into her emergency funds prior to the pandemic, but Jones shook his head. 

"I'll believe that when I stop seein' packages of toys being delivered to your place. Ya got money for coloring books and Tonka trucks but not the rent?"

"You... you stole my package? _You_ stole my son's birthday present? I had to tell my 4-year-old son that I'd get him a present with what was left from the grocery shopping, you--"

Steve's feet moved of their own accord. 

"Ma'am, would you mind if I step in?"

Gabriella nodded, mute with rage and incomprehension.

Images of a tear-stained toddler's face flashed in Steve's mind as he pulled out his phone. 

"Jones, is it? I'm Steve Rogers, one of your tenants. I live in 2A. How much does she owe?"

Steve ignored the muted sounds of Gabriella speaking--the roaring in his ears kept him from absorbing the woman's protests. He was laser-focused on the greasy man before him--the buily, getting off on threatening a poor mother (not so different from his own Ma) with eviction.

"She-she owes $3500 flat. You got that lying around, _Cap_?" 

Steve's eyes narrowed as images of flying fists and scuffed knees danced before his eyes.

Struggling to keep his tone even, Steve asked in his best Captain America voice, "Why exactly is Ms. Villanueva paying paying $300 more than me for her rent? Isn't my place larger than hers?" 

Jones' eyes darted from side to side as he muttered something about "two kids who make messes".

Steve applauded himself for ignoring the urge to beat the shit out of Jones, and instead pulled out his phone. Logging into his banking app, he manually paid Jones $7000 without blinking. 

"Check your phone, sir. You should get that transfer right about... now." 

The dull roar in Steve's ears faded a bit as Jones apologized to him, thanking him for his service. Steve didn't bother to respond to the man's parasitic snivelling. Instead, he turned, finally registering the angry words flying out of his neighbor's mouth.

He waited till they walked into the elevator together, and then spoke over Gabriella's utterances of "cancel that payment now, you chivalrous bastard!"

"I will _not_ be canceling any payments, ma'am. Also, can't you report that asshole for stealing your package _and_ opening it? Isn't that illegal?"

Gabriella narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. Pale lines broke the smooth brown of her chubby arms--burns, Steve's mind helpfully supplied, from the grill at her restaurant perhaps.

"I guess... well, I guess I owe you a thank you. I don't know when I'll be able to pay you back, but I _will_ pay you back."

Steve half-shrugged, hoping that she wouldn't. She could keep her money, save it for her boys. He saw her to her 4th floor apartment, and then returned to his own place. 

That night, he didn't tell Darcy what had happened--even though it would've made her respect him more, Steve felt unease coil up in his gut every time he pictured the pure _relief_ on Gabriella's face when he'd paid her rent. 

Sleep didn't come easy to Steve that night. Darcy had blown a kiss to him around 10 PM and then retired, citing an early morning Zoom meeting with Jane as an excuse for going to bed at what she called a "Dad-approved" hour. 

He'd laughed and smiled and felt the familiar warmth of _something_ when she logged off for the night, but then the unease returned. It clung to him, like a film of grease that he couldn't scrub off. Drawing only made it worse; images of Jones' face sneered back at him from the page after a few minutes of sketching. Steve ripped the page out of sketchbook and threw it away, uncaring of the waste. 

Opting for a shower instead, Steve turned the water to boiling hot. When the steam fogged up the mirror, Steve stepped under the showerhead. The temperature scalded his skin raw pink in seconds, but the feeling of _wrongness_ lingered. 

By the time Steve got into bed, he was moments away from a full anxiety attack. He couldn't figure out what about the incident with Gabriella was working him into such a frenzy, and it took his breath starting to catch for Steve to realize that he was _crying, weeping_ like a baby. 

The unease in his gut violently uncoiled, sending waves of anxiety washing over Steve's body. The crying became louder, more guttural, and all Steve could do was curl up in his bed and clutch his stomach.

He thought about hunger, about not having enough money and wearing newspaper in his shoes. He remembered the shame of asking the butcher for a scrap of beef, for leftover tongue or liver so that he could fix his ma something more substantial than potato-peel soup or beans. 

He thought about the segregated troops, sending brown and black bodies to the front lines as cannon fodder--Gabe Jones, called slur after slur by Privates and Generals alike, coming home to an America that didn't want to take care of him or his kind. 

He remembered the forlorn look of confusion and dejection in the eyes of the kids in his old neighborhood--kids who'd never known the warmth of a full belly or the guarantee of where they were sleeping that night. 

Steve's sobs slowed after half an hour. The unease wasn't quite gone, but he had greater clarity over what had triggered him. 

The future (with its bright lights and sugary cereals) tended to scream of over-abundance and prosperity. Steve knew inequity still existed, but it was kept under wraps so well. Gentrification and gerrymandering allowed the privileged to avoid the reality that things _weren't fair_ , that their lives were easy only because they'd lucked out and had reached a level of capitalism where they weren't worrying about things as mundane as rent or repairing car engines. 

Steve had grown up with _nothing_ but his ma's love and Bucky's loyalty and his own grit \--he'd watched his mother count pennies out for his medicine, shaking her head softly and praying with a worn rosary clutched tight in her work-roughened hands.

Gabriella's shoes were brand-name, but her car keys were for an old model. Her eyes were lined with eyeliner and fake lashes, but her arms were covered with burns. The anger in her voice when she'd realized that Jones had stolen her son's gifts reminded Steve of Sarah Rogers, tiny with a halo of wispy blond hair and a spirit the size of Goliath, standing up to doctors who'd told her to save her money and call a priest to read Steve his Last Rites. The future made people scared because so many of them were unable to save for something as everyday as a car repair--because wages hadn't changed since the 90s, since rent had skyrocketed in recent years, and because caring for other people's quality of life had somehow been exchanged for a rugged individualism that Steve could _not_ comprehend.

By the time the first sun rays peeked through his curtains, Steve was exhausted and tender from the emotional onslaught of his anxiety attack.

Heaving himself up, he sat on the edge of his bed. Gently, he wiggled each of his fingers, allowing himself to focus on the sensation of the movement. Inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth (the way he'd taught Bucky to do all those months ago), Steve slowly calmed himself down. 

By the time his breathing was more normal and the puffiness had left his eyes, Steve had formed a plan. 

\----

Pepper Potts was a _highly_ superior human being who Stark _barely_ deserved to be with. She'd taken Steve's call at 8 AM while seated at a chrome and glass desk, dressed in a sharp black suit with sculpted shoulder pads. Steve had felt grossly under-dressed in his white t-shirt, but was quick to get over it as he explained what he'd seen, and what he wanted to do about it. Pepper's polite grin hardened in a flat line as she listened to Steve's description of Jones' cruel and possibly illegal actions towards Gabriella (and he wasn't sure, but Steve could've sworn that she'd written down the man's name and circled it twice). 

One conversation later, Steve and (mostly) Pepper had hammered out the rudimentary workings of a nonprofit organization that would help support New Yorkers in need of financial support due to the pandemic. Without breaking a sweat, Pepper had filed the articles of incorporation for an organization that Steve had quietly called "The Sarah Rogers' Mutual Aid Fund". 

Steve was able to monitor the funds from his laptop, although Pepper had hired someone to do the heavy lifting on the accounting, as well as an IT team to handle the nonprofit's web page and as well as the application for aid. Belatedly Steve realized after a few hours of emailing with new hires Priya, Ivan, and Liam, that he was now the president of a non-profit organization. Stark had been the first to donate, gleefully texting him a screenshot of a number with too many zeroes for Steve to comprehend as an actual dollar amount. Bucky had taken some of his Hydra slush money (he'd stripped them _bare_ during his world tour of what he called "regaining agency and causing mayhem") and sent that in, along with some money from Natasha. 

Pepper sent some emails and made a few calls, and suddenly Jimmy Fallon was giving Steve a call. They'd recorded a bit together, Jimmy in a cheap version of Steve's suit. They played a game and discussed quarantine before getting to the nonprofit. Steve had insisted that they not ask viewers to donate. He was tired of celebrities asking the regular folk of the world to chip in what little money they had to help themselves. Instead, Jimmy and Steve challenged famous New Yorkers to donate, and to Steve's surprise, they _did._ Jay-Z and Jay Leno, Alex Rodriguez and Reed Richards. The amount in the nonprofit's account shocked Steve, so much so that he stopped checking it for fear that he was going insane. 

Because she was a genius, Pepper figured out a way to vet applications efficiently, and because she had access to Stark's resources, Pepper was _also_ able to devise a mechanism for distributing the funds equitably and quickly. 

Steve barely had time to catch his breath. He filmed a few interviews, replied to a few requests for comments, but focused primarily on fundraising for the people who were struggling the most. He was afraid of saying too much in interviews, since he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back if the reporter asked why he'd been motivated to do this in the first place. 

The unease that had wrecked him that night after helping Gabriella wasn't just anxiety; it was helplessness, the same same kind that had driven him to destroy a punching bag and confide in his beautiful, empathetic neighbor.

Speaking of said neighbor, Darcy had called Steve the day after the Fallon bit had been released, eyes blazing and mouth grim. 

Thanks to his Catholic upbringing, Steve immediately assumed the worst.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you Darce--I was just takin' out the trash and Jones was being a dick to Gabriella, so I stepped in, and then I got sad that she was even in that situation to begin with--"

Darcy cut him off.

"So you founded a nonprofit organization designed to solve income inequality for the time being? And gathered millions of dollars worth of donations in mere days??"

Steve wasn't sure, but it didn't seem like she was angry with him. In fact, she seemed...emotional? Sure enough, Darcy had tears leaking out of her eyes, and then she was laughing. 

"Wow, I'm in trouble."

Accurately gauging Steve's expression as a confused one, Darcy clarified. 

"You're kind of already perfect, besides the fact that you're always ogling me when we chat, but I'm flattered by that so don't stop." (Steve choked on his own spit, but covered it up as best as he could). 

"Now I realize that you're not just a guy in spandex who risks his life, Steve. You just... you care about people. You see injustice and you try to fix it--it weighs on you if you don't. Jesus, you're a dream come true."

The warmth blooming in Steve's chest flared into something explosive and wild. Smiling like an idiot, Steve leaned forward towards his laptop. 

"You're more than I could've even dreamed of, Darce. I really-" 

Steve stopped himself from saying anything else. He didn't want to scare Darcy with the intensity of his feelings so soon. She smiled at him, though, and the look in her eyes felt like a balm to his frayed nerves. She asked him to tell her about the nonprofit, so he did, explaining its ins and outs as best as he could. She lit up when he told her about Pepper's help, and glowered when he mentioned Jones. 

By the time he'd stopped talking, Darcy was lying back on the couch, laptop resting against her propped up knees. 

"So yeah, that's the nonprofit. Named it after my ma--she was a nurse in a TB ward. It's how she died, actually. Talk about full circle." Steve was embarrassed by the wistful tone of his own voice and avoided looking Darcy in the eye.

Softly, she whispered his name, and Steve looked up.   
  


"You are making your mom _so_ proud, Steve. I'm proud of you too. Fuck, I shouldn't say this, but... you might be the first man I've ever felt this way about. You make me want to rip your door open and just..." 

Steve shut his eyes and shuddered. Darcy's words had ignited the very surface of his skin. She bit her lip and Steve had to fight back the urge to make her words a reality.

She didn't finish her thought. Instead, they stayed quiet, basking in the glow of Darcy's confession. 

Darcy recovered from her moment of emotional vulnerability, and had busied herself showing Steve her village in her "Animal Farm" game that she was always raving about.

Steve watched and listened carefully like always, but emotionally he was far away. The cartoonish Darcy on the screen looked nothing like his love- his _love_ , and the word turned over and over again in his mind until suddenly he was up, and in the hallway, and knocking on her door. 

She opened the door almost immediately, and Steve hovered, unsure of what to do with the energy that had propelled him this far.

"Steve, are you okay honey? Is it an anxiety attack?" The concern in Darcy's voice made Steve want to do something crazy, so he just shook his head and waited for the words to come. 

Darcy, bless her, seemed to understand, and waited, arms crossed. He focused on her feet, small and pale with chipped polish on the toe nails the color of emeralds. 

After a moment, Steve took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak--and then he felt warm lips pressing against his own, Darcy's arms appearing from nowhere around his neck, her body stretching up to meet his taller one. 

Steve's shock rapidly dissipated into lust, rocketing down to his groin quicker than he could process. Darcy had pressed herself against his chest, her breasts flush against his heartbeat. Clever fingers tugged at his hair and sent all of his bloodflow to his growing erection. His hands moved of their own accord to hold her waist where her t-shirt had ridden up. The warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sent tingles up his spine as he kissed her more deeply, licking into her mouth. She tasted of coffee and home, and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her to his bed, but a treacherous voice in the back of his head cleared its throat. 

Darcy seemed to sense his changed body language and separated her lips from his. She was everything pink and swollen and _beautiful_ , and it killed Steve to back away from the woman he _loved,_ but he did it anyways, because he _did_ love her. 

Both of them noticed Steve's raging erection a millisecond later, and Darcy covered her mouth with her hand, eyebrows hitting her hairline as she took in Steve's package. Embarrassed, but also aroused, Steve fought the urge to cover his crotch and run. 

Mustering a little dignity, he instead reminded Darcy that "there's a pandemic, and we can't let our hormones keep us from following the rules of social distancing, Darcy. Stop laughing!" 

Darcy, of course, collapsed into full blown giggles, which resulted in Steve also slumping against the wall, laughing at himself and his ridiculously persistent boner. 

It took them a while to regain themselves. Steve managed it first. 

Sighing, he hung his head and stared at his sock-feet as he mumbled, "That is _not_ what I wanted our first kiss to go like."

Darcy heard him, of course, and grinned that same wolfish grin from the night of their first meeting.

"Hey man, based on what I'm seeing, you enjoyed our first kiss very much. I did too. And I initiated it, so I'm to blame for whatever this situation is. What'd you come over for anyways, Dad?"

Steve glared at her (Darcy calling him things like _Dad_ made him think of things that were _not on the table_ ), but could only hold it for a moment before confessing 

"I just wanted to tell you that I think I love you. That's all."

Darcy's mouth parted slightly, lips still puffy from their kisses, and then she smiled, white teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting of their hallway.

"I think I might love you too, Mr. Rogers." Her voice was open, devoid of her usual jokey tone, and Steve bit his lip to keep himself from suggesting that they quarantine together. 

Instead, they wished each other a good night, and returned to their solitary apartments. Steve closed his laptop, cleaned up his kitchen, and ran a load of laundry before getting ready for bed. As he made to wash his face, Steve saw that his jaw and lips were stained slightly pink from whatever Darcy'd had on her lips that evening. He rubbed his fingers across his jaw and down his throat. Suddenly, the world's most persistent erection was _back_ , but Steve was willing to deal with it this time, because he had super hearing, and he was _preeetty_ sure he could hear a vibrating noise from next door. 

It was a nice way to end the night, Steve thought, as he pleasured himself in time to his best girl next door. 

\----

"So are you two...official? After one date and a totally irresponsible kiss?" 

Steve didn't respond immediately, focusing on his core muscles as he did another sit up while hanging by his knees from his reinforced pull-up bar. 

Bucky was knitting (something he'd picked up from Sam, who'd recommended it as a grounding activity for very traumatized veterans/prisoners of war) a questionable-looking red and black pashmina while interrogating Steve about his relationship with Darcy. He looked comfortable in Nat's living room, lounging on her over-sized sofa while Natasha did secret spy activities in her office. 

Steve grunted as he lowered himself slowly, mindful of his body's weight pulling at all of his muscles. "We're...ugh...we're exploring the boundaries of a relationship while social distancing...pretty sure we are exclusive, given that she ain't goin' anywhere, and it's been weeks of us just talking, getting to know what the other is like... Plus, you know me."

"Boy, do I."

There was enough sass in Bucky's response that Steve felt it necessary to flip him off. 

Bucky feigned offense, pressing his metal hand to his heart.

"C'mon punk, you know as well as I do how you get when you're fallin' for someone. Ain't happen often with you, but when it does... Remember, I was a firsthand witness to the shitshow that was you courtin' Carter the first. Boy am I glad that I'm far away right now. From the sound of it, you're seriously _gone_ on this girl."

"Whatever, Buck. I ain't said a word about you shacking up with Nat, have I? Gimme a break." 

Rolling his eyes, Steve finished his work out on a yoga-mat, stretching out his limbs and rolling his neck. The tension that perpetually lived in his shoulders loosened, and gradually bled away for the time being. He could hear the clicking of Bucky's knitting needles, and the moment felt restful. 

"Speakin' of this girl, Darcy--when're you gonna show me a picture of her? I've kept Natasha from using her stalker skills on the girl so far, but her restraint won't last long."

Glancing at his phone, Steve considered the potential fallout of showing James Buchanan Barnes a picture of a girl that he really _loved_. Decades of brainwashing and torture hadn't fixed his best friend's shitty sense of humor. Still, he wanted to show off Darcy, so he girded his loins and unlocked his phone.

Darcy had sent Steve a picture of herself dressed up for a video-hangout from two days ago. All they had done was debate the best of the Lord of the Rings film trilogy, but she'd done her hair up into a loose updo, curly tresses escaping around her face. Her eyeliner was all sharp again, and she wore a pink lipstick that reminded him of raspberry tarts. Darcy was grinning brightly in the selfie, one hand holding her phone up to take the selfie, and the other clutching a bowl of microwave popcorn. 

Steve texted Bucky the picture, waiting for his friend's response. He didn't want Bucky to know just how deep his feelings were for Darcy--the relationship was too precious, too tender to expose to another's judgment.

He'd shared plenty with Bucky already, anyways. He'd explained how spending time with her made Steve feel like less of a walking-talking political comic, and more like a real human being. He'd told him how Darcy called him for his opinions on cheeses, to ask whether or not she should cut her own hair. He'd confided to Bucky when she first asked him about his childhood, about his mother, and their tenement. She didn't make him feel like a relic or a man out of time. He'd described the way her tone was always curious, but nonjudgmental. How she saw past the hard edges he'd adopted to survive the 21st century, and that they'd became dull and rounded around her.

Bucky stopped his knitting and checked his phone, and in his nervousness, Steve grabbed his notepad and sketched the image on his screen. Curled up on Natasha's couch, Bucky looked nothing like the haunted man he'd fought on the bridge in DC so long ago. His hair was still long, but it was shiny and well-groomed. Natasha had clearly been at Bucky's nails, as they were painted a tasteful lilac that seemed especially out of place on Bucky's blunt fingernails. All the touches of self-care seemed incongruous on the former Winter Soldier, but Steve was grateful that Bucky finally got to experience the softness of a good life. The sketch grew more detailed as Steve became more focused on his drawing.

Belatedly, Steve realized that he'd zoned out when Bucky said something in perfect Italian about his sister marrying a goat.

"Sorry, sorry. Well, what do you think?"

Bucky glanced at the phone's screen again, tapping his other hand's fingers on his thigh. 

"I think..."

He paused again, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Annoyed, Steve stood and grabbed the laptop from the stool he'd positioned it on earlier. 

"Wait, wait--I'm just kiddin' ya Steve. Sit down, lover boy, relax."

"Quit fuckin' with me Buck, I'm serious."

The grin on Bucky's face vanished.

"I know you're serious, Steve. You ain't ever talked about a dame the way you do this one. Darcy says this, Darcy showed me that. Your sketchbook's probably full of doodles with her initials mixed with yours, right?"

Steve blushed, cursing his Irish heritage for betraying him once again. 

"It's cute, Stevie, it makes ya seem real relatable. And the girl, well, she's a knockout. Reminds me of Carter... maybe something in the eyes? She looks like she'd bust your balls but also touch em in a real nice way after, ya know-" 

"Fuck off, Buck. Don't talk about her like that."

Bucky's laugh echoed tinnily around Steve's guest room, taunting him as he rolled up his yoga mat.

"Don't be sore, Steve, I'm sorry! She seems like your type. Strong and caring. Powerful in her own way. Not scared of confronting you. Just...does she...well, never mind."

Steve paused his tidying and eyed the screen again. 

"Does she what, Buck?"

Bucky knitted for another moment before replying.

"Does she like you as much as you like her? Is she committed? Because I know you, Steve Rogers. You don't look at a person just for a fling or for sex; you see a future, with barbecues and white fences and babies and stupid lookin' dogs with dumb names like Snuffles and Coco. I think you would marry this girl if she'd agree to it, so I just wanna know that she's as invested as you are. Does she see the Steve who fought in alleyways and lied to get into the army because he had delusions of duty?"

Steve's heart twisted tightly at the thought of Darcy in a white dress, but even he knew that there was crazy and then there was _crazy_. 

"Yes, Bucky, yes. She's seen... me."

Bucky's eyes softened, and then narrowed evilly.

"Have you had Zoom sex yet?!"

Steve groaned. "Fuck you Barnes!"

"Wrong brunette, champ, you mean DARCY!" 

The conversation devolved into schoolyard taunts and an inventive threat involving Bucky's metal arm and Steve's patriotic asshole joining in holy matrimony by the time Steve shut his laptop.

Grinning to himself, Steve lay back on the floor and gazed at the ceiling. 

He was in _love_ (!) with a woman who loved him _back_ (!), and he had his best friend to make fun of him for it, and he was able to help people during their time of need. What more could he ask for?

\---------


	6. shit happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's life has always oscillated from highs to lows without much warning. This time, though, he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: allusions to child abuse, trafficking, mentions of panic and anxiety, some sexual content

"How the hell am I supposed to avoid the scorpions, Darcy?!" 

Steve fought the desire to chuck the neon pink and blue Switch across the room, and instead took a deep breath. Darcy's giggles reverberated tinnily from his phone speaker. She held her own switch, and also stood next to him in his Animal Crossing village (which he'd snarkily named Icetown, a double reference that had led to a long conversation with Sam about using dark humor as a coping mechanism). Her villager looked nothing like her (as usual), dressed in a strange frog suit with a matching helmet. Steve's village was dressed in a blue button down shirt and slacks, a sartorial choice that Steve knew would irk Darcy.

They'd been playing Animal Crossing a lot of late. Darcy's work had slowed down, and Steve was still waiting for an earth-shattering catastrophe to warrant suiting up. Stark's Iron Legion had been especially useful; with Rhodey's help, Tony had found a way to independently contract the suits to mitigate potential conflicts. The world had not ceased to spin, and bad guys had not stopped being bad, but Steve's brand of help was still not too useful.

Thankfully for his perpetually-guilty conscience, the non-profit had really taken off. Donations were still coming in, even though the ad campaign was limited mostly to Steve's smattering of internet appearances and some ads on social media. The application process for financial aid had been lauded by _Business Insider_ as "an innovative model for every industry to look to". 

Steve wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew that people weren't getting kicked out of their homes for not being able to make rent, and he could sleep at night because of it. 

It also freed up time for video games, which meant Darcy had forced him to pay for overnight shipping for something called a "switch" and a video game that had surprisingly little to do with animals. Darcy had done a poor job of explaining the point of the game, but Steve was handy enough to use the internet to help him catch up. Within a few days, Steve had paid off his first debt to Tom Nook and was working on collecting as many DIY recipes as possible. The game soothed and frustrated his mind, which distracted Steve (and he supposed millions of other humans) from the grim reality of pandemic. 

"Where are those battle-honed reflexes now, old man?!" Darcy's cackle sounded tinny as she goaded him. Steve smiled despite the jab, too happy to see his girl rolling with laughter on her unmade bed. She'd shown him much of her apartment by then, via facetime and Zoom Calls that migrated from her kitchen,to her living room, to her bedroom. Steve half-heartedly tried to "clap back" (Bucky had taught him the slang), but Darcy was too cute in her cropped Thor sweatshirt that bared her soft white belly. A pale pink birthmark sat right below her belly button, and Steve tried not to show how badly he wanted to drag his tongue on that birthmark and travel _south_. 

All carnal thoughts disappeared when a call from Stark interrupted the video-chat.

"Cap, we got trouble. My bots can't cut it, so I wanted to get the band back together- sort of. You, Romanoff, Barnes. Wilson on air-support and surveillance."

Steve sat up straight, spine prickling with unease. 

"What's the mission?"

Stark rubbed his face with a grease-stained hand and scowled bitterly. The gray in his beard stood out to Steve, a reminder that his friend was very, very human.

"Human trafficking, Cap. On a scale... well, it warrants us showing up. Their security's just shy of the Raft, and well... it's kids. Lots, lots of trafficked kids, so suit the fuck up and save your game. Animal Crossing can wait."

Steve had already grabbed his shield and his go-bag by the time his phone returned to the video call. 

Darcy's voice rang out in the near-silent apartment, with only the quiet music of Steve's switch to reply to her. "Babe? Steve??"

Steve hurriedly jammed his feet into his boots as he huffed out, "Yeah Darce, I'm here. It's... work."

The room was silent again, but for the sound of Steve squeezing into his new pandemic-approved suit, courtesy of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. The coloring was more somber than Steve's usual 4th of July get-up, but it seemed appropriate for missions like this one. 

Finally, phone in gloved hand, Steve virtually faced Darcy, who was now sitting upright on her bed with, stonefaced. 

"You have to go fight? Is it aliens? Loki?"

Steve half-smiled, and then thought about it. "I wish it was, honestly. It's people, Darcy. Shitty people. I don't know how long this'll be, or that I can even tell you anything. Just... I'm going to send you a number to a secure line. I should be able to use my phone most of the time...but just in case I go dark for more than a few days, call the line. Ask for Buck or Natasha. Tell them about the first time we met--they'll verify your identity that way."

Darcy sniffled, slightly, and wiped a lone tear from glassy eyes that seemed less blue, and more the color of fog. 

"I-I hope you'll be careful, Steve. You matter a lot to me. Tell me you'll be careful, please."

Her voice cracked on the word please, and Steve's own eyes welled up as the sound of Natasha's text notification rang out. 

"I gotta go, baby. I'll do my best-to be careful-and I love you! I love you Darcy!" 

The quinjet was parked on a neighboring building's roof, so Steve hung up the call and left via his fire-escape. The sun had almost completely set, so Steve used the bars of the fire-escape above his own to launch himself onto to the roof. Clapping sounded out from behind him and Steve turned to see Darcy leaning from her fire escape, dark hair fluttering slightly because of the Quinjet's thrusters. 

She blew Steve a kiss, but Bucky had already grabbed his arm and lifted him up into the jet. The sky was fully dark by the time Steve turned to look at Darcy through the window, but she'd already gone inside. 

It was time to work.

\---

Sometimes, the mission was simple--get in, kick ass, get out. 

Whenever this was the case, Steve would fall into an easy rhythm. His mind would process the chaos of the fighting and his fists would fly before he could even think, blocking and tackling as easily as batting an eye. 

But missions like this one;

the surveillance, which turned into infiltration, which led to under-cover work (Sam was always the best at this, because racist predators focused on the white Avengers more than they did on Sam or Rhodey). 

It took 3 days for them to find the hub of the operations, which was remote from the sites where children were dropped off for processing. Steve had had to swallow down bile as he read the dossiers with Sam, who couldn't bear looking at the surveillance images for one moment longer than necessary for him to prepare for the mission. Bucky had needed to walk away, triggered by the intel Stark had provided about the dehumanization taking place, by the abuse the children were being prepared for. Natasha had simply grabbed more grenades, more weapons, expression never wavering.

On day 5, just as the guards changed shifts, the Avengers struck. 

Natasha took down the security system from the jet, and then joined Bucky as he picked off the outer defenses--beefy, meat-head guards with few brains and fewer morals.   
Steve hitched a ride from Sam and fought, back to back with his friend, through the facility. Stark's Iron Legion lifted up cages upon cages of children to safety--and Steve couldn't bear to look at their faces, so he kept fighting, hoping that they couldn't see the blood staining his new uniform, the brain-matter caked in the ridges of his shield.

Rhodey had arrived on scene with the National Guard. The surviving leaders of the ring were stripped and tied together, left to be arrested with an abundance of evidence of their sins surrounding them. Abandoned children's clothes were scattered among more incriminating items, painting a sordid picture the Avengers were eager to leave behind.

The ride back to New York was silent, but for the sound of Sam crying quietly. Natasha didn't make a sound as she leaned against the jet's walls, but her breathing hitched exactly twice. Bucky sat on the floor of the jet, metal hand holding tight to Natasha's ankle. Steve focused on piloting the jet. A pounding had started to emanate from the base of his neck--super soldiers weren't supposed to get migraines, the SS doctor had said, but even the serum couldn't fix the disease of inhumane cruelty. 

He considered texting Darcy, but he knew he wasn't ready to ruin the best thing in his life with the ugly reality of being Captain America. 

Resting his hands on the control panel, Steve gazed at his fingernails. Neatly trimmed and squared-off, no cuticles or hangnails to be found. He wondered how Darcy would feel if she knew how often he'd scraped gore out from under his nails with the pointed nail file that he kept in his bathroom drawer for precisely that purpose only. 

He wondered if she'd gasp to see him smash a man's cheekbone in with one blow from his fist--would she hate him? The violence, the destruction? Would she understand the compromise he'd made the day he crossed the line between spectator and soldier and killed a man for the very first time?

The pounding increased in force, so Steve turned on auto-pilot and shut his eyes. 

\---

When Natasha dropped him off a few buildings away from his home, he'd already changed into street clothes. It made it easier for him to blend in and maintain some semblance of privacy. By the time he'd trudged up to his floor, the pounding behind his eyes felt like an ice-pick was hacking at his frozen mind. He couldn't think beyond "door-shower-bed", and couldn't even fathom summoning the energy to eat something. 

Unlocking the door and dropping his bag felt unhappily familiar, and Steve tried to understand why his throat burned as he kicked off his sneakers and entered his bedroom. 

Bypassing his closet or his mirror, Steve stepped straight into his shower. He stripped off his clothes, feeling unclean and tender as he turned the water on and waited for it to get hot. Hazy memories of rough washcloths and lukewarm baths floated in his mind as the water scalded his skin. Steve shampooed his hair methodically, then lathered his body with soap. He took no pleasure from the gentle scent of lavender and vanilla, instead focusing on his burning skin and aching head.

When he was clean, he shut off the water and stepped onto his bath mat, feeling marginally less terrible than before, but floating dangerously towards the kind of panic that usually lasted for hours.

Steve was reaching for a clean towel when he heard a clattering from his kitchen. Towel in hand, Steve inched towards his slightly ajar bedroom door and peered out of the crack--he couldn't seen anyone, but he could hear footsteps, and the sound of breathing. Adrenaline flooded Steve's exhausted body as he flung the bedroom door open. 

Darcy (and who else would it have been but her?) stood in his kitchen, holding a container of what looked like meatballs. Startled but silent, she stepped towards Steve, glancing down only once at his barely covered body before making eye-contact again. 

"Hey, Steve, I heard your pipes go when you started showering, so I came by. I've...I've been waiting, so I couldn't sleep."

The adrenaline drained from Steve as quickly as it had arrived. Shame mixed with a quiet relief filled him as he struggled to find his center of gravity. Eyes trained on Darcy's feet (llama slippers, no socks), he approached her, suddenly aware of his naked body. He felt like a child who had wet himself, so exposed was he in that moment.

The magnitude of the moment only hit Steve when he stood so close to Darcy that he could smell the slight sweat coming from her underarms--a panic response, he'd supposed, to his freak-out. 

Darcy placed the container on his counter and came even closer to him, a sad smile on her bare face. She looked beautiful, but dark circles smudged the skin under her eyes. He felt awful, knowing that he'd made her lose sleep, but a small part of him thrilled to know that he was _cared_ for, he was _missed_. 

Without realizing it, Steve had lifted a hand to cup the back of Darcy's head. All thoughts of social distancing were gone--he just wanted to touch and be touched.

Her hair was soft and warm under his fingers. Shaking slightly, Steve guided Darcy to lean her head on his chest--she caught on and took over, understanding what he was wordlessly requesting.

Too short to properly hold him from a standing position, she led him to his sofa and sat down sideways.

He stumbled slightly, but managed to situate himself so that Darcy could straddle him from behind. He tried not to put his full weight on Darcy, afraid that he would suffocate her, but Darcy pressed his bare chest with her small hands so that he was flush to her. His feet pressed against the arm of the sofa, and the feeling of worn leather grounded him enough to enjoy the warmth of Darcy's breath tickling his ear.

She had wrapped her arms around his torso like an octopus, occasionally smoothing her hand down his side or his stomach. Her legs were framing his thighs, feet resting near his knees. She'd kicked off her slippers, so he noticed how cold her feet were against his warm skin.

The fact that he wore only a towel meant little to Steve; he'd imagined her seeing his naked body many times before, but this moment was intimate too. Darcy wiped away tears he hadn't know he'd shed, and massaged his forehead lightly. She kissed his damp hair and rubbed her nose near the nape of his neck--the touches were soft and careful, and he leaned into them until he was basically liquid. 

Without realizing it, Steve fell asleep. The pounding in his brain had dissipated, and was replaced by the gentle sound of Darcy's heart, beating behind her breast where he'd laid his head to rest. 

\---

The talk afterward hadn't been pretty. Steve had woken up, naked and sweaty and panicked to feel Darcy behind him. He'd scrambled to stand and lost his towel in the process, all while Darcy snored loudly. Grateful for her slumber, Steve tiptoed to his bedroom and got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. The ache in his belly was starting to overwhelm him, so he tried to be quiet as he placed the tupperware of meatballs in the microwave. Fate had other plans, however.

"I know you're not putting my nonna's fucking meatballs in the microwave, Steven! They need to be gently reheated in a skilled or in a sauce pan!"

Darcy had somehow managed to fully wake up between berating his reheating skills and stomping over to the kitchen to rescue her precious meatballs. Steve could sense a tension in her words--the bite wasn't all sarcastic, and he could tell that he needed to listen.

"Hey, look at me, Darcy. Just... hey, the food can wait."

Darcy refused to let go of the saucepan but she did look up at him. Her blue eyes swam with tears. Steve tried to approach her, but she held a hand up. Exhaling slowly, she turned around to switch on the burner. Fiddling with the saucepan, she took another deep breath.

Steve couldn't trust his knees to support him, so he sat at his table and waited for the recrimination to begin. 

It didn't. Darcy minced garlic she must have brought from her own fridge and sauteed it in olive oil that he hadn't used in weeks. It wasn't until the sauce was sizzling quietly a few minutes later that she turned around, face blotchy and red, but calm.

"I'm going to start with the most important piece of information, Steven, and it's this: you are _not_ in trouble right now. I'm not mad at you, I'm not mad that you probably had to go do some awful stuff to go save the day--yeah, don't make that face. I know Thor, I know superhero guilt when I see it, babe."

Darcy punctuated her last words with the wooden spoon in her hand, sending little splatters of blood-red tomato sauce all over the kitchen counter. 

"These tears are because I'm sad that you've downplayed this huge part of who you are to try and keep me comfortable. Well, I'm not your average civilian. I met Loki first! I watched him level an entire town, I watched him kill! I saw Dark Elves almost destroy London, and I fought them too! I know the smell of blood and burning flesh, Steve, and I can't forget it. Now I can't compare my minor experiences to yours, but they help me understand people like you and Thor. I get why you run in the direction of the fire, when everyone else is running away. I don't...I don't begrudge you that instinct. Even if it hurts me to watch you leave. I...I realized how much I love you when I saw you in your uniform, leaping like the Hulk from the fire escape. I don't know what you had to do, but I know that you sacrificed your peace of mind to do it. So we both suffered during this, but you suffered more, and I got to take care of you because you're my guy, and-"

Steve stood and strode over to where Darcy stood. He moved the sauce pan off the heat and turned off the stove. He plucked the wooden spoon from Darcy's fingers and thew it into the sink, and then he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. She squeaked at first, but melted into the kiss quickly. Steve had no reservations this time, so he explored her lips slowly, thoroughly. He ran his tongue over her cupid's bow first, remembering the way he'd pictured her mouth the first night he'd met her at her door. 

She returned the favor, alternating firm kisses with slow licks of her mouth into his own. Steve could feel himself growing hard and heavy in his shorts, so he slowed down, resting his forehead against Darcy's while he took deep breaths. Darcy gazed at him worriedly, but he shook his head. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then lifted her up easily onto his counter so that she was eye-level with him. Stepping between her legs, looked Darcy straight in the eye. 

"Thank you, Darcy. You took care of me today, and I am so grateful for your kindness. You are so giving and I don't feel like I deserve it. But you just said it yourself-I was suffering, and you eased that suffering." 

Darcy wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her voice was small as she said, "You deserve the world, Steve Rogers. You deserve to feel wanted and loved and safe."

Steve nudged her off of his shoulder and looked into her eyes again. 

Pouring as much conviction into his voice as possible, Steve replied, "Thank you, Darcy. But who do you think you are to decide who suffers more? Did you forget that I watched Bucky go off to war without me? I spent every day half-sure that I'd get a letter with his dogtags or a note from his ma telling me that he was gone. I know how the waiting kills your spirit, Darcy. I know that you suffered, and I want you to feel better. What will make you feel better?"

Darcy responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again. Steve let her run her hands over his shoulders, shuddering when she fisted the fabric of his shirt in her hand and pulled it tight against his too-taut skin. Steve hovered his hands near the hem of Darcy's hoodie, but she beat him to the punch, yanking the hoodie off and pausing only to take off her glasses before resuming her oral exploration of his neck.

Steve's heart skipped like the murmur was back when he ghosted his palm over the soft white skin of Darcy's back. He rested his hand atop the fastening of her bra and waited for her assent. Darcy nodded, then licked Steve behind his ear in a way that made his cock jump. The feeling of shame threatened Steve for a moment, but then Darcy reached behind herself and unfastened her bra one-handed, and shame flew out the window when Steve finally laid eyes on the breasts that he'd dreamed of for many, many weeks now. 

Darcy's breasts were paler than the rest of her, with nearly transparent stretch marks along the sides. Slightly hypnotized, Steve stroked one pink nipple with his thumb. Darcy shuddered, and Steve wanted to see that _again_ , so he rubbed her again with his thumb, feeling the gentle peak rise and firm up. 

A small hand brushed against Steve's cock through his shorts, and Steve nearly jumped away--he'd blow his load too quickly if she did that, so he distracted Darcy by lowering his head to her breast and licking her nipple, then blowing on it. Darcy moaned, and then she took his shirt and yanked on it until he helped her remove it. Darcy gazed at him, transfixed. She pushed him away and hopped off the counter (Steve watched her breasts bounce as she did that and found God once again).

Then, Darcy made Steve's brain go haywire by pulling down his shorts, freeing his erection. She didn't touch his dick, thankfully. Instead, she stepped away from him and stared, stroking her chin thoughtfully, as though she was examining a painting of a sculpture. Precum oozed from Steve's cock, and the wonderful feeling of shame warmed Steve from his cheeks to his chest to his toes.

Darcy placed a hot palm on Steve's stomach, between his Adonis belt, and scratched her finger tips gently on his skin.

"You are a fucking _masterpiece_ , Steve. I wanted to touch you from the moment I laid eyes on you, you absolute _specimen_." Darcy's voice was low and throatier than usual, but then Steve's cock jumped of its own accord, startling both of them into a giggle fit that quickly turned into another long session of kissing, except this time Darcy was standing on her tiptoes, hardened nipples rubbing against Steve's torso. Her jean clad legs rubbed against his dick in a way that made Steve pant with need, and he could tell that she was pressing herself against him on _purpose_ and that wouldn't do.

They migrated to the bedroom somehow, and Darcy shed her jeans and panties before laying back against Steve's pillows. Her body language had changed slightly, somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom. Her legs were pressed together, and her arms covered her breasts lightly. 

Steve, who was trying to figure out how best to ask to taste between her legs, noticed, and stopped. 

"You good, Darcy? We can stop." Darcy's face and chest were flushed pink as she pursed her lips. "I'm okay, Steve, promise...just...we've been circling each other for weeks, and of course I'm anxious right now before we're finally about to fuck." 

Steve understood better than anyone what that felt like, so he kissed the arch of Darcy's foot instead. She twitched away from him, ticklish, but he'd already moved on, lips hot against the crook of her knee, and then the curve of thigh, and then on that beautiful birth mark that he'd been eyeing the day he'd left Darcy behind. 

He felt Darcy's hand on his shoulder, so he stopped. Darcy's face wasn't pinched anymore, but Steve scooted up on the bed to sit next to her anyways. 

"I... I want to do this...but my brain is spazzing out right now at the thought of having sex for some reason, Steve. It's...I think it's because I want this to be right and to feel perfect, and this day has been anything but, you know? I rushed myself and now my brain is getting its revenge on me..."

Steve immediately felt like an asshole for pawing at Darcy when she was feeling doubts, but that train of thought came to an abrupt halt when Darcy spread her legs apart and parted her pussy lips with delicate fingers. 

"I want to show you what I do to myself when I think of you, Steve. I can't quite cross the line of sex for some reason, but I'm _very_ okay with the idea of touching myself in front of you. I trust you, and I want you to trust me too."

Steve couldn't speak--he only watched as two of Darcy's slim fingers circled her clit before disappearing inside of her, pumping in and out in a practiced rhythm. Steve followed suit, spitting on his palm and jerking his cock. Together, Steve and Darcy touched themselves, sitting side by side on Steve's yellow quilt. Darcy reached over with her free hand and rubbed Steve's nipple, causing Steve to almost hyperventilate as his hand moved faster on his cock. Inspired, Steve leaned over to suck on Darcy's collarbone. Darcy came before him with a sob, and then she placed her slick hand on top of his own and helped him reach completion too. Steve's heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest, not just from the orgasm, but from the feeling of being _loved_ and _trusted_ by the woman who had made him come.

Darcy stared at Steve for a long moment before grabbing her discarded panties and wiping the cum from his chest and chin. The gesture felt more intimate than all that they'd done in the bed so far, and Steve bathed in the moment before Darcy left the bed to go use the bathroom.

Steve let himself memorize the heart-shape of her ass, the curves of her hip before he rose too. He went to the kitchen and washed up. he found cooked spaghetti in a ziploc bag next to Darcy's purse; he reheated the sauce and plated the food up. Steve also grabbed Darcy's phone from her purse, as well as her hastily abandoned glasses, and carried them all over to the bedroom on a tray. Darcy had stolen one of Steve's button-down shirts and piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. Steve's heart squeezed with love when Darcy cheered at the sight of Steve, naked and holding a tray full of food. 

Steve handed Darcy the tray and then pulled on clean shorts. Together, they sat cross-legged on the butter-yellow quilt, and ate Darcy's meatballs, which were terribly salty and extremely garlicky, and the most delicious thing Steve had ever eaten in his life, because they had been cooked by his love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I would normally apologize for such a delayed update, but honestly, there were bigger things for me to focus on. I want to openly state to all readers of this fic that I support Black Lives Matter and will fight for Black people's right to not be over-policed and killed the openly corrupt, racist police of this nation. I have had no desire to write until this weekend--my energies have been directed towards that effort, as well as my job, and I also just felt none of the spark that makes me want to write. 
> 
> That being said, I am actively trying to engage in acts of self-care, like writing fic. Please, if you are involved in activist work, take care of yourself. You cannot pour from an empty cup, but you also cannot stop pouring in times like this.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all  
> i'd say i'm sorry  
> but this is week four of being home with my family and i'm a teacher trying to do her job from home and this is what I've decided to do to cope with the uncertainty of this whole situation. Pleaseeee comment I am desperate and would like to write more thirst-quenching chapters about my fave couple. 
> 
> In all seriousness, lots of love and peace to y'all during this uncertain time.


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